


Dream Conductor

by caraluques



Category: Original Work
Genre: Butch/Femme, F/F, F/M, Lesbian Character, M/M, Trans Female Character, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-03-31 00:32:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19038715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caraluques/pseuds/caraluques
Summary: Each citizen of Reverie receives a journal at birth, enchanted to record their memories and experiences, their hopes and fears. Upon death, their journals are brought before the Queens, the Author and Illustrator, who adapt these life stories into works of art. Yet to a pair of lovers on the kingdom's outskirts, one aspect of the journals remains puzzling. No matter dreams captivate her mind, Caramilla never finds them adorning her journal's pages. When presented with an opportunity to uncover the inner workings of Reverie's magical journals, Caramilla and Luques set out to find the means to cast a spell which will leave no question unanswered.





	1. Trinity

Ripples spread across the lake as a smooth, slender hand pierced its surface. Its fingers splayed, the hand rose a few more inches, a wrist following it, the process continuing until an entire arm was jutting from the liquid like bone from a broken limb. An experimental wave to nobody in particular, and then the arm’s owner rose further. A tall being, thin and brittle, flora heavy with thick, dripping ink broke loose from the lake and inspected her surroundings. The cavern, many miles wide, was lined with jagged rocks and little else. The figure breathed a sigh of relief, air filling her lungs for the first time in months.

A quiet splash sounded to her left and another figure, shorter than the first, emerged from the depths. At least their head emerged, eyes betraying their fear as their body remained below the ink. The first being extended her hand to the other, who took it nervously in their own and allowed themselves to be pulled from the lake. Figure one smiled softly and squeezed her lover’s hand, before plunging her other arm back below the surface and delicately seizing the wrist of yet a third woman, dragging her up with minimal effort.

The third glared at the first with no real malice, freeing her arm and dropping into the lake with another splash that scattered droplets of ink across her companions. Her body was primarily made up of darkness and stars, with only a few areas of moonlight, and her brilliant teal eyes pierced the gloom as her gaze rose to take in the others. The tallest figure chuckled lightly, shooting her a reassuring look. She delicately brushed their foreheads together in affection, before the three lovers intertwined their hands and swam gracefully to shore.

Fingertips brushed sand stained lavender from the gentle assault of deep purple liquid. A smattering of grains worked their way under the lean figure’s nails as she struggled briefly to find purchase, then pushed herself to her knees, and straightened up at last. Her lovers remained in the lake, one still and focused, the other absently splashing their feet, both staring up at her in anticipation. She took a moment to take in this new feeling, of cold air kissing her skin instead of the suffocating lake pressing against her from all sides. After months of slumber, unconscious bodies drifting beneath the surface of the great pool, the trinity had finally awoken, hopefully to a new world that would welcome them with open arms where their last had strangled them. When their eyes had first opened after their long rest, the idea of returning to the world had been terrifying. This lake, which had hosted many an adventure in their youth, was all that felt safe. It was a drowning, empty kind of safe, one that would have torn their minds from them had they not eachother, but anything was better than the surface.

Never, they swore. Never again would they suffer what they had on the surface.

The woman’s fingers began to prickle, drawing her ungracefully from her reverie, and the unfamiliar sensation almost made her topple back into the ink. She inspected her hands, their skin the same dark and starry shade as those of her companions and found them… dry. Cracked. Gone was the smooth, silky skin that had been there moments ago, it had begun to crease and age before her eyes. Experimentally she clenched her hands, finding the action unnervingly difficult. A few flakes of skin came loose and decorated the shore, deepest brown fragments contrasting the pale purple sand. From behind came a pair of gasps, prompting her to whirl around, and upon looking into the fearful eyes of her lovers the figure took a closer look at her form. It wrinkled and decayed in the same manner as her hands, the pale moonlight that formed the rest of body joining with the dark chips of skin on the ground. A croaky cry left her throat and she threw herself back into the lake, staining more of the sand with splashes of ink, and the broad and stout figures instantly caressed her, hands dancing across her suddenly aged form. They babbled and fretted as she silently observed herself, her copper eyes wide and afraid.

Without warning, a feeling of deep tenderness bloomed throughout her body, nearly more shocking than the decay. As quickly as it had begun, her skin ceased its withering and began returning to its soft, youthful state, numbness fading from her bones and strength filling her limbs. The figure clenched her hands easily and the worries of the others drew quieter, before all three shared a sigh of confused relief. They floated there for what felt like hours, the lean woman snug in the embrace of her lovers, and her skin betraying no signs of its previous damage. Time passed, and the third figure spoke up. She spoke of attempting her own escape, testing whether the drying decay would affect all of them or just the tallest, and knowing her strength, the others let her try.

It was, perhaps predictably, no use. The woman made it barely a step further than her precursor before cracks began spiderwebbing across her body, and her throat felt dry, so dry. She stumbled back into the lake with only slightly more grace than the lean one, and just as before the ink soothed her sapped skin, returning it to its former beauty. Apprehension filled figure two’s eyes, but their lovers assured them that they need not attempt escape. If it hadn’t worked for two out of three, third time was unlikely the charm. The trio gazed longingly into the tunnel that would lead them homeward (though home was perhaps too generous a word) but for the moment, it was out of reach.

This lake seemed a prison as much as a home, leaving it now would surely spell their end. As the three rested in the ink, they silently swore to formulate a new plan. Returning to the world above was inevitable, the creatures that drove them down here long departed, but how to escape? How to survive? The peculiar ink seemed to have bonded with their very souls, digging its roots into them and promising eternal, suffocating company. Their hands clasped tightly, the lovers, one lean, one stout, one strong, retreated into the lake’s depths, and quiet descended upon the cavern.


	2. Comfort Zone

The apricot spun twice in the air before landing back in Caramilla’s hand, which tossed and caught it again. Humming quietly, she reached into the basket and seized a peach, then balanced the basket on her arm and juggled the two fruits. The peach nearly met a tragic end when Caramilla's phone buzzed and she startled, but her hand darted out and caught it safely. Her eyes grinned sheepishly when the woman in front of her glanced back and gave her a look, prompting her place them both carefully back in the basket. Both women were weary from a long day of shopping but Luques hid it better, hands stuffed in her pockets while the cashier counted the coins of the family in front.

Luques supposed her wife had more of a reason for her impatience, given the headache that had been bugging her for several hours. The two had made a visit to the pharmacy shortly after the pain had reared its ugly head and begun irritating Caramilla’s far prettier one, but the painkillers ended up having little effect. Caramilla checked her phone to find a notification from a game, and quickly got to work tapping away at an assortment of buttons while her wife continued to wait for their turn.

It had been Caramilla’s idea to hit up the farmer’s market for fresh ingredients, planning to incorporate juicy peaches and cherries into her next pie. However, the coins jangling around in her purse had persuaded her to make a whole day of it, and before long Luques was escorting her through aisles packed with sweet-smelling bath bombs, flowing dresses, vibrant lipsticks and glittering jewellery. Mostly to window-shop, of course. Even with a little money saved up and the temptation to treat themselves, the pair certainly couldn’t get too indulgent. By the time they’d reached the farmer’s market, the weight in Caramilla’s purse was no more, replaced by that of the new bracelets that she’d been unable to resist putting on immediately.

Luques, for her part, had scored a delightfully tacky tie, adorned with cats in little teacups, which now hung loosely around her neck. It didn’t exactly match her tank top but she, like Cara, was too impatient to wait to get home before donning it. Once the transaction was complete the two departed the market, laden with bags full of fruit, clothes and sugary snacks. As usual, Caramilla carried most of the bags, her right arm stronger than both of Luques' arms put together. The town hummed with activity this snowy afternoon, hundreds of shoppers bustling through its silvery streets. Many were likely in search of whatever groceries they could scramble together to last the next few days, when the forecasted storm would force them inside their homes. Luques had already stockpiled frozen goods and microwave meals the previous week, meaning that the two were treated to a more casual shopping trip today compared to their hurried neighbours.

“I feel like we forgot something,” said Caramilla. Her red dress was snug but did little to combat the cold breeze surfing the air (she knew she should’ve worn a jumper dress). Luques' arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her close and letting her leech off the butch’s warmth. Ever the one with foresight, Luques had brought with her a warm plaid shirt to don over her tank top should the temperature decrease and was now a beacon of heat to her chilly femme.

“I’d certainly hope not. With how much we’re already carrying, I can’t imagine there’s anything more to buy,” Luques replied.

Caramilla hummed in response and began murmuring a shopping list. “Peaches, cherries and apricots from Chalia’s, bags of flour and sugar, a can of cream…” Caramilla trailed off as she dodged a lamppost she’d almost wandered right into.

“Trust me, we’ve got what we need and then some,” Luques assured her. “Careful of where you’re going, you don’t want to suffer worse than a headache.”

“I’m so close to you we’re practically one person, so by association you’re not dodging very well either,” Caramilla countered. “You practically steered us into that.”

“Making sure you’re awake,” Luques teased good-naturedly. Caramilla tapped her arm without much force, and Luques pretended to be wounded.

The lilac sky slowly darkened as they navigated the streets, pale grey clouds migrating to the town and threatening further snow. Confronted with bitterly biting wind, Luques shrugged out of her shirt and wrapped it around Caramilla’s shoulders; she herself could survive the cold. Caramilla hummed happily and moved in a little closer, almost threatening to trip them both up. Violet lights flickered on atop lampposts, although some struggled to get past the flickering stage. The quiet town of Lucidum was both well-known and well-regarded for its production of phosphor, but its supplies had begun to run low. More and more phosphor was being shipped to the capital where it was in high demand, leaving the many streetlights and neon signs of Lucidum lacking.

As a lampworker, Luques was in her element nestled in Lucidum. Her finely crafted bulbs provided them a steady income in a town known for producing lights, while her more intricate marvels of glass were sold for quite a pretty penny to wealthy collectors. Neither Luques nor Caramilla were rich, far, far from it, but Luques’ talent helped them to get by and occasionally treat themselves.

But now wasn’t the time to be thinking of money and work. Now was the time for enjoying a serene walk through the town, and for Luques, appreciating the way violet light from the many lamps highlighted Caramilla’s face. It’d been somewhat stressful recently, with a dip in customers meaning Luques’ products had been collecting dust rather than making profits, and the forthcoming snowstorm would likely make it too cold to operate her tools. Shopping with Caramilla had done a wonderful job of helping her relax, even if they’d ended up spending a little more than was wise. All in all, Luques had needed today.

Minutes passed and the two reached their destination. Once the sliding doors of the bus station had closed behind them, Caramilla lowered her scarf and darted to the little café while Luques checked the schedule on the screen overhead. It seemed they had missed the previous bus by a minute, drawing her face into a scowl. She huffed and made her way over to the benches near their stop and sat down with a relieved sigh. Luques was faring better than her wife but was still rather wiped by their exploration of the shopping centre. The bus station’s benches were perched beside heaters that helped warm her chilly self, but this had the added effect of making her drowsy. In the distance she could see Caramilla waving to a barista; it seemed one of her favourites was on duty. The sign had stated that the bus would arrive in roughly fourteen minutes, so the two would have plenty of time to enjoy a snack or two.

After sidestepping her fellow customers in her rush to the counter, Caramilla gave the petite café's menu a cursory glance before ignoring it completely and placing her usual order. Dark hot chocolate and a Turkish delight scone for herself and a single black coffee for Luques, who viewed sampling baked goods from a chain café as an insult to her wife's superior sweets. Caramilla always visited the café when they were in town; its bakers could serve up a scone to rival even her own. It had led to a few instances of the two missing their bus due to Cara's insistence that they grab a snack before boarding, and thoroughly miscalculating how much time they had before the bus drove off. Over time she had gotten better at determining whether they had enough time, and the baristas had learned to just toss two drinks and a scone her way when they saw her face in the crowd. They were efficient like that.

Soon the two were seated beside eachother with nine more minutes to go, Luques carefully sipping her piping hot coffee and Caramilla dunking scone into hot chocolate. Her headache still hadn't relented, but the food and drink distracted her to an extent. Caramilla was glad they'd bought pain meds while they were in town, she hated visiting the pharmacy closer to home. Despite the anti-discrimination laws passed by the Queens, who were trans themselves after all, the lady who regularly ran the counter at their local pharmacy still deadnamed Luques whenever she visited, much to Caramilla's anger. Luques had reported her before but no action had been taken, it seemed the tiny pharmacy on the outskirts of the kingdom could get away with such offences more easily than bigger organisations at the heart of Reverie.

A low rumbling from Luques' tummy drew Caramilla's attention.  
“Wanna bite?” Caramilla waved her half-eaten scone.

“I'm good, thanks. I know you love those things, you should finish it,” Luques smiled gently.

“Have you even tried them before? Go on, I'm getting full anyway,” Caramilla persisted. Seeing her wife's conviction, Luques accepted the dessert and took a small bite, staring off into space while she considered the flavour.

“Thoughts? I want a solid paragraph,” Caramilla said. Luques' eyes lit up, and she scarfed down the remaining food in place of an answer. “Told you.”

Soon the bus pulled in and a dozen passengers left it, with Luques, Caramilla and a handful of others taking their places. The driver today was Tobalk, a friendly face who gave the pair a smile as they displayed their bus passes. They sat near the back as usual, and Caramilla rested her head on Luques' shoulder as the bus took off.

Caramilla drifted off after a few minutes, her hot chocolate having made her sleepy unlike Luques' rich coffee. Seeing the femme with her eyes closed and posture slumped, Luques shifted carefully to act as a more comfortable pillow. Luckily Cara didn't snore, so she didn't have to worry about their fellow passengers being irked. Luques just hoped her sleeping beauty would wake up before they arrived at their stop, so she wouldn't have to wake her up herself or carry her off the bus. The butch’s bicep served as a firm but cosy cushion, and if needs be she could just flex a little to jolt Caramilla awake. But for the time being, Luques was content to listen to Caramilla's gentle breathing and watch buildings and street signs zip by through the window.

Even sharing Luques’ body heat, Caramilla’s sleeping form shivered slightly. Thin layers of frost had begun to coat the streets and high above, clouds barely held on to their vast quantities of snow. Luques carefully took some of their new clothes from a bag and began draping them over Caramilla, hoping the makeshift blanket would provide some warmth. Her wife’s shivers ceased, and Luques found herself being snuggled up to even more. She smiled contentedly and gave the femme a gentle squeeze before turning her gaze back to the world outside. 

Lucidum was something of a mish-mash of buildings both old and new. Many looked almost decrepit, having been built before Luques was born, while others were the polar opposite. Gleaming steel marvels with vibrant neon signs cropped up here and there, looking as though they’d migrated here from a far wealthier city. There had been an effort to modernize the entire town, but it had evidently only gotten so far – Lucidum had hardly changed in years now. Luques honestly preferred the older buildings, they were far cosier and more nostalgic than these newer sorts that she found bland in their modern simplicity. The modern buildings seemed cheaply made anyway, the pair’s own apartment was testament to that. It was constructed mere years ago and yet something was always going wrong, be it a flickering light or a stubborn lack of hot water.

A few minutes passed, and Luques' attention was drawn back to her companion. Caramilla's face was scrunched up, and she'd begun to wriggle in her sleep. Luques never understood how nightmares could strike during such a short nap. She laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, but Caramilla was restless. She writhed and mumbled half-words in her sleep, disturbing the blanket of clothes and sending a sweater to the ground. Caramilla’s eyes flew open and she let out a cry, her hand clutching her forehead her expression pained. For a moment she barely seemed aware of her surroundings. The few passengers without earphones turned and gave the pair questioning looks, but Luques' attention was focused on Cara. She was so distracted that she didn't notice they were almost at their stop, until Caramilla recovered and glanced out of the window before tapping the stop button.  
Luques hastily stuffed their new clothing back into its bag, with help from Caramilla who’d taken a moment to notice the trousers and scarves littering the floor.

“Are you alright? Was it a nightmare?” Luques asked quietly as they made their way down the aisle, never taking her eyes off Caramilla.

“No no, just. Damn headache. Spiked suddenly,” said Caramilla. Tobalk gave them a concerned look as they thanked him and got off, Cara giving him a small smile of reassurance. She held Luques' hand during the short walk home, occasionally wincing from the jabbing pain in her head. It seemed sleep had only made her headache worse, but she didn't want to drag down Luques' mood. Faint remnants of a nightmare prodded at her mind, but Caramilla was certain it had been the pain that had awoken her. 

As they approached their block of apartments their attention was drawn to the second-story window, where a criminally fluffy black cat watched them with emerald eyes. The pair smiled at their cat’s neediness, then sighed knowingly when he stepped away from the window and darted off. No doubt he’d be hiding to punish them for leaving him alone for some thoroughly unforgiveable five hours.

Luques held the door for her femme and the two dragged themselves up the stairs, forever thankful that their apartment was not one of the higher ones. Caramilla fumbled in her purse for her keys and unlocked door 23, Luques following her inside. They both slipped off their shoes and placed them on the rack, and Luques set off in search of the cat. Caramilla yawned and put down her bags in the kitchen, then made her way into the lounge. The bags could be unpacked later (they didn't contain anything too perishable), and right now she just wanted to rest. Her headache was back to its previous state, an annoyance more than agony, with the earlier spike of pain seemingly a freak occurrence. Caramilla unzipped her dress and stepped carefully out of it, draping it on the arm of the couch. She sat down and wrapped the fluffy blue blanket around herself and hugged her favourite heart-shaped cushion, seeing as somebody was too busy finding the cat to cuddle her.

Right on cue, Luques came back into the room with a bemused black ball in her arms. Or at least mostly in her arms, it seemed the cat had wriggled partially free and his legs were now dangling in the air.

"Baby!" Caramilla cried. 

"Yes?" said Luques. 

"No, the cute one." 

Luques gasped in mock-offence and made to leave the room, adjusting her hold on the cat as she went.

"Kidding! Come back!" Caramilla laughed, holding out her arms but still not bothering to get up.

Luques returned and transferred the cat to Caramilla's eager arms, where he replaced the cushion as Cara's hug buddy. Almost immediately, he placed a paw on her forehead and yawned.

“I think Mallow’s trying to cure you,” said Luques.

Caramilla pressed her forehead against Mallow's little paw. “Lend me your power.”

Mallow, for his part, patted Cara and let out a little squeak before retracting his paw and curling up on her chest. Luques clutched her heart in adoration before recovering and joining her femme, and all three were out like lights in no time. For the next few hours the room was silent, save for their quiet breathing and the sound of cold winds outside the window.


	3. The Dreamer

The storm hit just as hard as expected, and overnight Lucidum’s streets were smothered in inches of snow. Bathed in the lampposts’ violet light, they took on an appearance most comparable to a trillion crushed amethysts. Few were so bold or so stupid as to head outside, and those who did quickly realised their mistake and darted back in. Luckily for Luques her lampworking tools managed to stay functional, so she spent several days crafting bulbs, beads and some more artsy things for fun. Caramilla made delicious use of her fresh ingredients, and every night the two shared a new baked delight. Wednesday saw them savouring peach pie, while Thursday was host to a sweet cherry tart. Friday brought with it a tray of colourful macarons (though mostly red and pink, as Caramilla had an aesthetic to maintain), but on Saturday morning Caramilla became distracted.

Luques would often describe Caramilla as a dreamer. Not only due to her optimism but in a more literal sense too, as Caramilla eagerly awaited night-time for the dreams it would bring. This itself was nothing unique – Caramilla certainly couldn’t claim to be special for liking to sleep. What Luques found noteworthy about her femme was the complexity of her dreams, how intriguing and often surprisingly logical stories could be born of Caramilla’s sleeping mind. Unlike Luques, whose dreams were scarce and forgotten by morning, Caramilla’s subconscious frequently crafted all manner of whimsical tales, tales which stuck with her from midnight to dawn and dusk again. She’d woken up from so many naps wishing she could have stayed asleep just a little longer to see how her subconscious’ stories would progress, that eventually she’d become capable of resisting the pull of the waking world. In her dreams, Caramilla could experience a rollercoaster of fantastical events, her mind weaving together stories of love and adventure (though mostly love, to nobody’s surprise. Especially not Caramilla’s). It was no shock then that Caramilla sought to squeeze out every minute of sleep whenever her head hit a pillow. Even though it sometimes meant waking up late and finding herself in a mad dash to get ready. 

This fascination with dreams had led Caramilla to question the nature of perhaps their kingdom’s most interesting element: its memory journals.  
The Queens of Reverie, known by the public as the Author and the Illustrator, had pumped out more books and paintings than any reasonable person could keep track of. They followed a simple, though somewhat morbid method: each citizen of Reverie was given a journal, enchanted to record their entire life story. From the moment they first opened their eyes to the day they closed last, their thoughts, feelings, and experiences would spread through their personal journal like milk through tea. Caramilla likened it to a diary you didn’t have to bother writing. Their memories filled seemingly infinite pages, which had the side effect of giving everyone in the kingdom a near-perfect memory. It was almost impossible to forget something you’d done when you could simply flick through a book to find it.

Every life in Reverie was precious, the Queens made sure to emphasise this, but that statement rang a little hollow when they converted the diaries of the dead into novels and illustrations. It had gotten to the point where families considered it a privilege for the stories of their lost ones to become best-selling books, and those without fascinating lives were considered by some obsessive acolytes to be a waste of paper and ink.

One thing that had always puzzled Caramilla was how the memory journals interacted with dreams. Or rather, how they didn’t interact. At all. Caramilla’s journal could record any event, emotion or thought that it deemed important enough, but not once had her dreams adorned its pages. Many a time had she risen from her rest, the details of her dreams still dancing in her mind like so many fireflies in a forest, only to find no mention of it in her journal. Did it not consider dreams important, worth recording? The idea affronted her. Even so, how did it decide what to record anyway? Caramilla was a fairly amateur spellcaster and the magic of Reverie’s journals was something she found truly intriguing.

The library hadn’t held the answers she sought. Pepper the librarian, bless their heart, had done their best to help find books on dreams, dream-catching magic, and the journals themselves, but to no avail. Which wasn’t to say there’d been nothing of interest, much the opposite. Caramilla’s research had revealed all kinds of interesting titbits, and while none were quite what she was looking for, they all furthered her interest in the inner workings of the journals.

So, it was on that bitterly cold Saturday morning that Caramilla decided not to bake more desserts, but instead to spend her day scrolling through the forums occupied by those with an interest in the memory journals. Considering that most of the kingdom, or at least those living in its heart were rather obsessed with the Queens’ works, these forums were far from empty. Caramilla had little interest in the stories themselves; she’d read and enjoyed them growing up but as time went on they had become rather dull. What tugged at her interest was the magic that made the journals operate, the behind-the-scenes production of the Queens’ stories, in a way. She hadn’t met many others with this fascination, but she was determined nonetheless to scour the web for information after the library had been a bust.

Amongst the small circle of those who were interested in the memory journals’ magic, there were a number of theories. These ranged from soul-based magic being used to form a link with a person’s soul when they were born, to the citizens of Reverie all being descendants of the Queens and sharing a mental bond with them and by connection, the journals they created. Naturally Caramilla thought this latter theory was nonsense. These people were clearly not spellcasters like her, or if they were then they were in the wrong field. The first though, that held some water. Caramilla’s branch of magic didn’t deal with the soul; very few did, for it was a complex and fickle thing. Nonetheless she’d pored over both the library and the internet’s notes on souls and their relation to memories, but the complex jargon had made her head spin.

She’d sort of lost interest after that. Caramilla was a dedicated gal, but she was neither a scientist nor a philosopher.

Yet here she was, hunched over her laptop wearing fingerless gloves in an attempt to stave off the cold and perusing the forums she knew like the back of her gloved hand. Three hours she spent scrolling through post after post from sycophants obsessively awaiting the release of the Author’s latest novel, and finding only two people commenting on the journals themselves. She supposed the memory journals had become such a normal part of people’s lives that few bothered to question them. Caramilla herself was born after they’d already been introduced to the kingdom; she had possessed a journal her entire life and could hardly imagine life without it. Still her curiosity wouldn’t relent, even if it had faded to something of a side-interest, dwarfed by her love of baking.

Bathed in the dim glow of her laptop's screen and the soothing warmth of the radiator - Luques must have finally turned it on - Caramilla felt her eyes grow heavy. She hadn't slept awfully well the previous night, that damned headache waking her up with obnoxious frequency, and a short nap wouldn't hurt, right? Just a brief rest of the eyes while her headache was behaving. Luques was hard at work with her tools and so surely wouldn't need her for anything. These thoughts swam lazily through her mind as her forehead grew closer to the desk.

While her body lay slumped in the lounge, snoring softly and earning a crick in the neck for her future self to deal with, Caramilla's mind took her on a tour of her subconscious. Various brief tales played themselves out, many involving food and reminding Caramilla that she really should eat something once she wakes up. None of these dreams were awfully interesting - you win some, you lose some, she thought. At least no nightmares had made themselves known; while more interesting than these rather drab dreams, Caramilla wasn't in the mood to be frightened awake again.

Eventually she was brought to another seemingly humdrum location: the library. Fitting, she supposed, given the research she'd just been conducting. 'The' library might have been inaccurate, though. It was certainly 'a' library, all towering shelves and lacking noise, but unlike Lucidum's own it appeared far more grandiose. Glancing at the nearest shelf showed that every book was perfectly maintained, unlike those in the local library which, despite the librarian's efforts, were often dog-eared and sporting damaged spines. The shelves themselves were rather intricate too, their wood dark and polished to perfection. Caramilla turned her gaze skyward, eyebrows raising as the shelves continued to stretch higher and higher.

In no time her head was tilted as far back as it could go, yet the shelves showed no sign of ending. Directly above was a sea of darkness, the room apparently so tall that its ceiling could not be seen. A low voice broke the quiet, Caramilla looking back down and turning to find empty space. The voice spoke again, its words far too quiet to make out, but just as before Caramilla appeared completely alone. Every table and chair was unoccupied, every shelf lacking visitors. Without warning the voice grew clearer, much clearer, easily recognizable as an ever-welcome sound.

“Dinner’s ready, love,” Luques said, drawing Caramilla from her sleep.

The clock didn’t lie, somehow Caramilla had been sleeping for several hours. It was already 5pm and she’d completely forgotten to cook; luckily Luques had taken notice of her preoccupied state and whipped something up herself. Caramilla let her nose lead the way, guided to the kitchen by the scent of hot curry. What kind of curry, she couldn’t tell. She was sleepy and unfocused from hours of gazing at a screen, and her knowledge of non-dessert food was mediocre at the best of times. The heat was more than welcome though, her frigid fingers tingling with warmth as she cupped the bowl and inhaled the scent of its contents.

“Nuskluu, haven’t had it in a while,” Luques answered Cara’s unvoiced question.

“Good choice, so warm…” Caramilla mumbled appreciatively. Luques chuckled and sat down to eat, and in a few moments the couple were enjoying their meal, soft conversation breaking the quiet. While the femme could handle spice rather well, Luques kept a glass of cold milk to hand while they ate. Her reactions to her own dish amused Caramilla enough to wake her up a little (perhaps Luques had added too much chilli). Mallow was nowhere to be seen, to nobody’s surprise. The typically greedy cat would have smelled the curry from a mile away and wanted no part in anything hotter than his regular food.

"So," said Luques, "catch the Z's you needed?" Her question was punctuated by another spoonful of curry and she winced slightly. She'd gotten nothing but chilli in that bite.

A sympathetic smile preceded Caramilla's answer. "Just about, though you interrupted me when my dream was starting to go somewhere."

Luques laughed, "I could hear your stomach rumbling as you slept, I think you need food more than you need another 5 minutes' sleep." Caramilla couldn't disagree and so opted to take a sip of her soda.

“Anyway, make any progress on your research?” Luques asked after her own gulp of milk.

Caramilla made a shaky hand gesture. “I found someone else supporting the soul-link theory, but that’s about it. Nothing new and nothing concrete.”

A soft murmur over a mouthful of rice showed Caramilla that Luques was paying attention. The butch swallowed the last morsel of her meal and placed her cutlery in the bowl. “That’s a shame. I still think that one’s correct, it makes the most sense out of the ones you’ve described.”

“Are you just saying that because it’s the one I agree with?” Caramilla asked playfully. Luques’ eyes betrayed a sheepish smile, but she didn’t comment further.

Both women took their dishes to the sink and Caramilla started to wash up, while Luques swapped her glass of milk for a soda. The air was filled with the scent of good food and an aura of sleepiness, and in the lounge Caramilla’s laptop lay open, its dim screen providing a little luminance. Mallow’s curled up form rested beside the radiator, his dark fur hot on one side and cooler on the other. In around half an hour the streetlamps would flicker on, casting their violet light upon the frostbitten streets and standing out from the dark like glowing petals swimming in tar. Their chilly home fought valiantly to stay warm and seemed to snore with contented drowsiness.


	4. Anemone

Ripples spread across the warm drink, as a spoon pierced its surface. Luques gave the cocoa a few stirs, powder becoming one with milk, before gently tapping the spoon on the rim of the mug. She tossed the spoon into the sink and handed the mug to Caramilla, then plopped down on the adjacent cushion and wrapped an arm around her.

“Three spoons of powder,” Caramilla stated.

“No more, no less,” Luques affirmed.

“A pinch of cinnamon, two marshmallows,” the former listed off.

“Just a pinch, exactly two,” the latter agreed.

Caramilla smirked and blew on the piping hot drink, took a quick sip and leaned into her butch. “Far better than that café's offering. You know exactly how I like it.”

Luques wiggled her eyebrows.

“I'm talking about the drink, you tit,” Caramilla elbowed Luques, while being careful not to spill a drop. These cushions weren’t new per se, having been handed down through Caramilla’s family, but they held a comfy kind of importance to her and she didn’t want to see them stained.

“You're hating on those drinks a fair bit for someone who always runs over to buy them,” Luques noted. “Seems you just wanted an excuse to compliment me.”

Caramilla offered no argument, instead taking another sip at the same time as Luques, taking the time to savour its flavour. The cinnamon had really brought it all together, it had just enough of a kick to it without being overbearing. Once again Caramilla appreciated her wife’s skill, it was beginning to threaten her own mastery of baking. She smiled at the thought. Luques would have a long way to go before she could produce sweet treats on the same level as her wife.

She was pulled from her thoughts by a pang in her head, as she clenched her eyes shut and steadied her grip on the mug. The headache that had been knocking politely at her temple for the past week had gotten worse, and she knew it’d take more than a warm drink and a warmer hug to dispel it, but until she could be bothered to buy more painkillers the cocoa would have to do.

“You know I can get you more pills,” Luques said with a concerned look. “It’s like a fifteen-minute walk to fetch some, not a problem.”

“It’s really not bad!” Caramilla insisted. “I love your chivalry, but this headache will probably just leave on its own in a few days. It’s got to get worse before it gets better, and that way you won’t have to head out in the cold,” she noted. Truth be told the pain was beginning to frustrate her, but the layers of snow blanketing the streets would make visiting the pharmacy an irritation that they could both do without. It had nothing to do with wanting Luques to think she’s tough, even though the butch already knew that well after their numerous sparring matches.

Luques patted Cara’s head and took a sip from her mug. “This is exactly why I got those snow boots, but suit yourself.”

The pair fell into comfortable silence, sharing their drinks and each other’s company, while the light that needed fixing flickered overhead. Truth be told there was a lot that needed fixing, from cracks in the ceiling to the obnoxious horizontal lines across the TV screen. Not being on the top floor meant that they didn't have to worry about rainwater dripping from the ceiling, and the lines could be ignored, but they both knew they’d have to stop penny-pinching eventually. A more responsible couple would forego shopping trips in favour of fixing up the place, but Caramilla and Luques liked to treat themselves. They’d also both failed economics.

Rain spattered against the window, a storm raging quietly outside, and Luques left the couch for a moment to open the curtains, giving them view of the admittedly pretty rainfall. According to the previous night’s weather forecast, the sky would be grey over their town for at least another week. That had certainly held true so far, with today being bleak and chilly, so both women had chosen to wrap up tight, share a few drinks – non-alcoholic for the sake of Caramilla’s poor head – and watch whatever was available on the TV. So far, it’d been sitcom reruns, the weather, and an old cartoon Luques had loved as a kid. Next to come was the news, which seemed to be entirely devoted to the Queens’ latest novel. It had released just that morning to almost unanimous praise, which utterly baffled Luques and Caramilla.

Luques squinted at the screen. “So, it’s about… A man who won big on the lottery but got mugged the next day.”

“Poor guy,” Caramilla commented absently.

“Like who reads these anymore? Some of them are interesting enough, but they’re few and far between.” Luques continued. Caramilla smirked in recognition of an oncoming rant. “They get so much coverage, but most are so dreary, remember that one with the lady who tried to steal marigolds from the Illustrator’s garden? That was the most interesting part of the story.”

Caramilla materialised her journal and flicked through a few pages. “To be fair, once we kick the bucket I doubt our books will be too riveting. We haven’t really done anything noteworthy.” The bronze leather cover was simple but elegant, with Caramilla’s full name and nothing else carved into the front. Sandwiched between the front and back were countless pages detailing the events of her life from her first waking moments to that very evening.

“Liar, anyone would pay to read about your hand. ’S one of my finest works,” Luques countered, squeezing the item in question. Caramilla’s right hand, an intricate thing of glass and brass, tightened around her lover’s in response. The hand was an original creation of Luques', pieced together with care after Cara’s original hand, one of dextrous petals and flora, had been lost to a messy baking accident. With Luques' expertise, forging a new hand for her wife had been a simple matter, and Caramilla’s knowledge of magic had been just enough to enchant it into a worthy replacement. Twin vines protruded from Caramilla’s shoulder, coiling around each other in a sort of plant-based braid, with the sturdy, hand-shaped terrarium at the end. She’d even chosen to keep a few petals from her old hand inside the new one, swimming in the magical liquid that gave the glass its power. It was a little bigger than her left hand, but she didn’t mind.

“A novel about my fancy hand would be pretty short and sweet,” Caramilla retorted.

“Then you’d both have a lot in common.”

“I’m taller than you!?”

The news continued, mostly focusing on the new book with the odd missing person report or soft news story. Honestly, Luques grumbled, many of these books read like news articles themselves, detailing the most mundane events of a person’s life. At least the news was current, these bestsellers were more like collections of old news stories that were no longer relevant.

At some point Caramilla had begun to doze off, leaning into Luques and resting her cheek on her wife’s chest. Her breathing slowed, and she let herself begin to drift away while Luques gently wrapped an arm around her and continued to observe the screen with a sleepy expression. Dim light from the television illuminated Caramilla's features, and Luques couldn't help but glance down at the peaceful girl beside her every few seconds. Occasional claps of thunder disrupted Caramilla’s rest, but the presence of her butch’s arm around her shoulders lulled her back to sleep each time. Eventually the storm settled down, the rain slowing from a continuous barrage to a gentle spatter and the thunder falling silent. Mallow came out from his hiding place and hopped onto Luques' lap, and Caramilla began to dream.

Assorted half-dreams flashed by, some lasting minutes and others mere seconds. For a moment she was back in college, stuttering nervously while surrounded by her more popular peers. The scene flickered and fell apart, sending her to a crystalline palace in which she assumed the role of a delightfully dainty princess. After a few more scenarios Caramilla’s mind seemed to settle and she found herself standing in somewhat familiar place, though she'd taken in few details last time. A library, the same as in yesterday's nap, its shelves still stretching so high they seemed to pierce the heavens. Candelabras of polished bronze shone high above, cloaking the room in a heavenly glow, and half-empty mugs littered the tables like pieces on chessboards. The air was filled with the scent of burning wax and musk, making Caramilla feel sleepy even in dreamland. Looking up she could see no roof nor sky, simply the same dark void where the chandeliers’ light could not reach.

Quiet murmurs came from no clear direction and Caramilla found herself spinning slowly around, taking in the shelves stacked with volumes impeccably preserved as she searched for the source of the sound. She doubted it was Luques again, this voice was unfamiliar and clearer than the one before. The voice spoke softly, its words almost smothered by the crackling of a vintage fireplace.

Another sound joined the murmurs, a sombre, elegant piano piece. Much like the voice, its gentle tones seemed to emanate from every direction, but Caramilla felt it strongest when facing west. It was strange, the song was no louder nor clearer when facing this way, but it seemed to permeate Caramilla’s mind more effectively. Its message, one of loss and hope, snuck into her head and prompted her to investigate. Through bookcases and desks Caramilla wandered, noting how they grew more dusty the further she walked.

Dotted here and there were what appeared to be memory journals, their distinct, uniform design sticking out amongst the other books. Caramilla reached for one at random but her hand refused to seize it. Her fingertips pressed against something imperceivable just millimetres from the journal’s spine, as though the book was guarded by a forcefield. She tried again a few feet down, but this journal too was outside of her reach. Curiously, the first regular book Caramilla made a grab for left the shelf with no resistance. Flicking it open she found it to be a children’s picture book. She grabbed another, a recipe book with a purple spine, and another, a novel about an adventurous fisherman. Caramilla placed the books back on the shelf and made another attempt at a journal. No luck. She shrugged bemusedly and continued through the aisle, the piano’s bittersweet tune growing louder as she approached, and before long she happened upon a clearing in the maze of shelves.

Oddly enough, the first thing to draw Caramilla’s eyes was not the figure playing piano, but the instrument itself. It was simply gorgeous, an elegant display of polished wood illuminated by several sweet-smelling candles. It was also massive, almost humorously so, dwarfing the person playing it and stretching just as high as the tallest bookcases. Caramilla scoffed quietly at the piano’s unnecessary form, and the figure turned to face her.

Faded eyes locked with her own but did not widen. This individual had clearly been expecting the femme’s visit and showed no signs of nervousness. Her skin glowed gently with pale light, and the only area of her body covered by the space and stars peculiar to their race was her hands. Those hands were now folded in her lap, resting atop her long, wine-coloured dress, yet the piano continued to play independently. The woman began to speak, and the song grew slightly quieter to accommodate her.

“Well this is a sight for sore eyes,” she said. Her eyes crinkled in a smile. “It’s rather rare to find another dreamer, and even rarer one with such dedication.”

Caramilla stood transfixed by her beauty, before recognising the title she’d used.

“Another dreamer?” Caramilla questioned, eyes widening a fraction and betraying her interest.

The lady’s invisible smile persisted. “Of course, miss. Disappointing to find such a lack of curiosity around our kingdom’s peculiar journals. One would think they’d been around forever, as natural as the moon in the sky and the stardust in our veins.”

“They haven’t?” Caramilla blurted, immediately feeling foolish. The journals had been manufactured by the Queens, everybody knew that. There still existed plenty of older citizens who preceded the existence of Reverie’s journals. But in this moment, Caramilla’s awe seemed to override her logic.

“Of course not, every book has an author and every author has a parent.” Her eyes relaxed, signifying the smile’s end. “I was there, you know. The magic they used, enchantments both obscure and custom-made, was revolutionary.”

Caramilla’s heart raced. To find another person holding the same fascination with the memory journals was unbelievable. In Lucidum, a small town as it was, Caramilla appeared to be the only one interested in the topic. Or interested in the novels at all, for that matter. Plenty of its inhabitants still read the Queens’ books but didn’t harbour the same adoration expressed by other citizens of Reverie.

This woman, draped in a fabric of wine with brass necklaces and bracelets hanging from her like flowerpots, could have the answers she’d searched so hard for.

“How did they do it? What makes the journals function, and why don’t they hold my dreams?” Caramilla asked excitedly. The woman hummed and dodged the questions.

“Yes, this dreaming business. It’s quite questionable, isn’t it? The Queens use memory journals to produce inspiring works, and yet fail to account for the fascinating worlds that only dreams can provide. A great oversight, I’d say.”

The woman took a journal from the shelf behind her and rifled through its pages. “Plenty of compelling details about a person’s nine-to-five job and favourite picnic spot, but not a word ascribed to their dreams,” she commented dryly.

Caramilla was reminded of something. “Wait, how come I can’t look at any of these journals? When I tried to grab one back there, something blocked me.”

“Awfully rude to read someone else’s diary, you’ll agree,” the lady responded, not looking up from the journal she was perusing.

The femme frowned. “They why are you doing it?”

Closed with a soft thump, the journal was placed back in the bookcase and the woman turned back to her. “I entered your dream, didn’t I? Clearly I have little concern for others’ privacy.”

Her eyes grinned teasingly at Caramilla’s scowl. “Tell you what. I came here for a reason, and that wasn’t just to play piano.” Caramilla’s scowl vanished instantly. “I was present when the journals were made, but I swore not to speak of it. It’s nothing sinister, mind you, the Queens just like their secrets. Perhaps it makes them feel even more important, but regardless, I’m straying off topic.”

“Stay with me for a moment, this may sound needlessly complex. The spells they used, I’m sworn not to discuss. But frankly, where’s the fun in that?” she tapped a key on the piano and the music stopped. “Reverie’s people deserve to know the secrets behind their favourite books, even if few besides you and I truly care.” Peachy pink eyes gazed into bronze ones with rapt attention. “You hold yourself like a spellcaster. I’m correct, am I not?”

Caramilla nodded quickly.

“Surely you’ve experimented with mixing spells. With how one can relate to another.” Without waiting for an answer, the woman continued. “Our knowledge of magic is still limited, especially with how Reverie’s lead sorcerers have stagnated in making breakthroughs. But one element we’ve understood for years is how spells link together.” She held out a dark and starry hand, and a small, glowing shape of energy appeared above it. “One spell can lead to another. You must know this already. A simple magic lantern like this can grow into something more potent, if partnered with a more advanced technique.” Her other hand generated a larger shape, a star comprised of shimmering blackness. “Alchemy is a hobby of mine, I’ll admit. By combining two forces of magic, we can create wonders.”

With a loud clap the woman forced her hands together, smothering light and star. After a moment she separated them, revealing a beautiful, prismatic star, its edges lit up by streams of purple light. As she drew her hands further apart the star expanded into an even larger, more captivating form, before the woman flicked her wrist and it disappeared entirely.

“Apologies for the light show. My point is, spells can be connected in ways both blatant and curious. I cannot reveal to you the spell that fuels these journals,” she gestured around them at the many bookshelves serving as walls. “But I can help you to create a spell which will reveal that knowledge. A sister spell, you’d call it.”

Throughout the demonstration Caramilla had watched with awe in her eyes. Now her heart pounded in her chest, the promise of answers lighting a fire inside her and the chance to advance her sorcery kindling it further. The stranger seemed satisfied with her own explanation, so Caramilla prepared to take her turn speaking.

A startling shattering sounded from behind her and she whirled around to find a broken mug laying in pieces on the ground, its contents staining the carpet. She must not have noticed it when she entered the clearing, balanced on the edge of a bookcase’s shelf.

“Oh dear. I’m glad this is your dream library and not mine, that stain looks difficult to get out,” the woman commented. “You’ll want to clean that up. Can’t have your guests stepping on shards.”

Caramilla nodded absently, her mind still occupied by their discussion. Pale pink shards of china decorated the tea-stained carpet, so she scooped them up in the blanket that was still wrapped around her (she’d been wearing nothing but her blanket this entire time, how had she not noticed before?) and looked around for a bin. This was her dream, surely she could will one into existence, but the clearing remained empty save for herself, the woman, and the piano. Caramilla mumbled a quick “gonnafindabin” in the woman’s direction before making her way back through the tunnel of shelves. Sure enough, a dustbin sat beside one of the teacup-laden tables in the library’s main hall, filled with used teabags and scrunched up papers. She made a beeline for it, eager to return to her…guest, but one thing led to another and she ended up tripping over the trailing blanket. It seemed longer than usual, or maybe that was just an excuse for her mistake. Nonetheless, a jagged fragment pierced her left arm as she fell, generating a spark of pain.

It should have been a fairly minor cut, nothing to scoff at but nowhere near deadly. She’d suffered worse from simple basic accidents and been alright – when those accidents didn’t amputate her hand, at least – and anyway, perhaps the lady could heal her. She seemed to have a good grip on magic after all. However, as Caramilla inspected her wound, deep purple blood began seeping from it like a dam had been opened. This itself was highly concerning, her kind bled stardust, not fluid. The carpet should have been covered in a fine pink dust like had happened when she'd lost her hand all those years ago, not this tar-like substance. Quickly Caramilla's strength left her as litres upon litres of dark fluid gushed from her arm, but as her head seemed ready to hit the ground the library's burgundy carpet disappeared from underneath her and she found herself falling.

Deeper and deeper she fell, lacking the strength to flail her arms or even cry out in fear, descending through a blinding white void until her limp body smacked the ground. Or, was there a ground to speak of? Propping herself up shakily on one elbow, Caramilla turned her gaze downwards and saw nothing but more void beneath her, adding vertigo to her list of problems.

Something wet spattered against her, and Caramilla raised her head to observe the inky purple blood that dripped down after her like rainfall. It collided with the ground just as she had, peppering the pale void with polka dots. Caramilla could feel her consciousness leaving her but chanced a look at her arm and found her wound was nowhere to be seen. It hadn't left even a scar and yet still she felt drained and empty, but fear kept her awake. The murmuring appeared again, this time from somewhere in front of her, and Caramilla squinted at the empty space before her but found no speaker. Suddenly, one by one the dark droplets decorating the scene began to move, dragging themselves across the ground towards a singular point just inches from Caramilla's face. The darkness convened and pulsed with some sickly life, before twisting into sharp letters. Now the murmuring became clear, words like “witness” and “components” echoing through her mind. Caramilla dragged herself closer to read what the substance was spelling out on the stark white ground, all while struggling to avoiding unconsciousness.

Spiral fruit, stolen charm. Precious treasure of community felled.  
Fluids held in crystal domain, precursor's craft in sealed glory.  
Magnum opus of prideful makers. Sunken vessel teems with magic.  
Beauty captured fuels monarch heart.  
Lovers’ curse, all began.

Beside each line, a crude picture was drawn. A fruit that Caramilla has never seen before, a potion flask holding bubbling liquid, a miniscule sparkling sphere, and a portrait of a godlike figure. The fifth and final image was drawn but quickly scribbled out, the dark fluid criss-crossing over itself as though hiding what it had made.

Caramilla squinted at the bizarre creation adorning the ground, before it faded away and she screamed herself awake.


	5. Journal Glow

Luques nearly dropped her wife on her way up the stairs. She'd noticed herself nodding off, and made the smart decision to carry Cara's sleeping self to bed where they could rest together comfortably. The TV had been switched off, the cat's toys put away, and Luques was ready to end the night comfortably. So, imagine her fright when Caramilla let out a blood-curdling scream halfway up the creaky stairs, sending Luques into a panic she hadn't felt since Caramilla had lost her hand.

Sweating bullets, Luques rushed the rest of the way up the stairs and to their room, where she laid Caramilla carefully on the bed and tried to shake her awake.

“Cara? What's the matter?” Luques' eyes were wide as she shook her wife's shoulders, while being careful not to harm her. She relaxed her grip after realising how tightly she was holding Caramilla's shoulders, and tried in vain to steady her own breathing. After a few seconds, Caramilla suddenly opened her eyes and took a deep breath, sitting bolt upright and startling Luques into letting go of her.

“Honey?” Luques began warily. “What happened? Was it a nightmare, are you hurt?”

Caramilla stared into space for a few more seconds before registering that her butch was beside her, and turned to face her with a shocked expression. The femme appeared unharmed, her face was still pale and her neck dark and dotted with stars. Her skin was devoid of any obvious cuts or bruises, and her peachy eyes were focused on Luques' purple ones.

“I'm not- I feel okay, nothing hurts. Do I look hurt?” Caramilla asked unsteadily.

Despite seeing no clear signs of damage, Luques gave her a second look over anyway. “You look fine to me; how do you feel?”

“A little dizzy, I don't know-” Caramilla broke off as she remembered her dream’s dark turn, and inspected her arm for signs of wounding. Luques gave her a perplexed look that she didn’t see, before sitting on the bed next to Caramilla and placing a comforting hand on her wife’s shoulder. Rather than speaking she took a moment to calm her own nerves, mentally reassuring herself that the scare was over. The femme's skin felt a little warmer than usual, but the logical part of Luques' brain, ever struggling against the louder, brasher part, recognised that it was just a result of the panic. While Caramilla rubbed her left arm with a thoughtful expression, Luques sat and watched her quietly. 

A soft "mrow" alerted them both to Mallow’s presence, the pet padding through the doorway and making the short hop up to their bed. Caramilla’s glass hand drifted to Mallow’s head and began stroking, though her expression remained mystified. The perplexing events of her dreams danced through her mind’s eye and in that moment, she really wished her journal had recorded all of the details.

Speaking of which…

“I had a dream,” Cara blurted suddenly. Both Mallow and Luques were slightly startled, Caramilla’s voice was loud amongst the silence. “Sorry!” she continued in a softer voice. Luques gave her a reassuring look.

“Don’t worry, what was it about? Must have been a hell of a nightmare to spook you that badly,” she asked.

It had started to rain again, thick bullets of water washing away the remaining snow and rapping against the window.

“I don’t think…it didn’t seem like a nightmare. Well, maybe at the end. But most of it was fine, just…odd. And exciting?” the details trickled back into Caramilla’s memory one by one like the rain running down the window. Before long, that peculiar woman’s words were echoing through Caramilla’s mind, quickly followed by the vision of inky letters staining void.

“There was this woman, and she seemed so real. Like, I know it was a dream, but it really felt like she was…there,” she struggled to explain while Luques observed her patiently. “I don’t know how to describe it, it’s like I knew it was a dream, and she knew it was a dream, but she wasn’t supposed to be part of it? I think she exists in the real world, and she invaded my dream. Which sounds a lot scarier than it was! She was nice, for the most part!” Caramilla quickly adds, noticing Luques’ slightly horrified expression.

Luques took a moment to take in her wife’s words. She had stopped stroking Mallow’s head, and appeared to be lost in thought. When she spoke, she did so slowly. “Well, we’ve both had lucid dreams before, right? Maybe that could explain why it felt so odd.” Caramilla gave her an inquisitive look. “I suppose…if you knew it was a dream, and it’s your subconscious creating the characters, they’d know it’s a dream too, right?”

A small frown found its way onto Caramilla’s face. “This was different though, nearly all of my dreams have been lucid since I learned how to manage them better, and this wasn’t like any of them. And that lady, she told me she was there when the journals were made!” Caramilla’s voice grew a little louder in excitement, just as the rain grew heavier. “She said she can’t tell me their secrets directly, but she did teach me a spell that’ll let me find them myself!”

The femme’s excitement was infectious, and Luques found her own doubts starting to wash away. Say what you will about her wife’s unusual interest in dreams, but she remained fairly logical despite it. Not once before had she approached Luques with such certainty regarding the events conjured up by her active imagination, Caramilla had always recognised her myriad of weird and wonderful dreams as fiction. For her to be so certain and so excited now, something must have changed.

“Well then, let’s see it!”

“Eh?” Caramilla paused in confusion, her arms hanging in the air following her enthusiastic explanation.

“The spell? This is what you’ve been looking for, let’s try it!” Luques clarified.

Caramilla’s cheeks bloomed in a blush, and her hand moved to scratch the back of her neck in embarrassment. “Ah, well, she didn’t actually teach me the spell,” she explained. “In fact, I suppose she didn’t tell me much about the spell at all. I tripped while I was cleaning up a broken cup, and then the library disappeared and this…tar started spelling out sentences. Five of them, like a poem.” She chose to omit the part where this tar gushed from her wounded arm.

Luques raised an eyebrow. “Do you remember what it said? Could be that weird lady’s idea of a clue. Given that she’s not meant to tell you herself.”  
But try as she might, Caramilla couldn’t see the lettering in her mind’s eye. She knew it had occurred; she remembered the events of her dream perfectly. The specifics, however, utterly eluded her. Luques could tell from the way her face scrunched up in concentration – an expression she’d always found adorable – that Caramilla was struggling to find the words. Her thoughts rushed about in her mind but couldn’t find the right memory, like they were pulling open drawers and sifting through files in her brain’s filing cabinets but finding each one empty.

Appreciating the silence, Mallow curled up on a pillow and began to nap.

Pink and purple eyes were the only sources of light in the room, its curtains open to the delicate darkness of night. Its occupants lay silent for many moments as one scoured her mind for memories and the other waited patiently. The world outside appeared blurry through the window, countless streaks of rainwater coating the glass and reducing all that lay beyond to a blanket of dark and a handful of violet shapes. Shadows filled the rest of the house too, its rooms snoring while their owners refused to sleep.

Caramilla looked up and began to speak, but was rudely interrupted by the manifestation of her memory journal. Its cover was faintly stained with pink light when Caramilla turned her eyes upon it, which glowed slightly brighter with surprise. Strange, she hadn’t been thinking of the book nor wishing for its appearance – she knew well by now that her dreams would not lie within its pages - it was as though the book had sensed its owner’s struggle and drawn itself from its pocket dimension.

Both women’s eyes widened at the book’s appearance, it hovered in the air for a moment before being struck by gravity and landing gently on the duvet. “Alright,” was all Luques could think to say. Caramilla picked it up, opened a page at random, and found herself wanting more. There was nothing different about the book, this page in particular simply detailed her 17th birthday, and the next described a date with Luques. The butch peered at the page and found herself smiling regardless of the let-down. She was glad that date had been recorded, it’d been one of her favourites.  
But as Caramilla resolved to close the journal and stow it away, her eyes were drawn to the back page. Sandwiched between two sheets of paper, a bold light had begun to glow. Its colour reminded her immediately of honey, or sunlight on a summer’s evening. The light held a warming quality, making the book in her hands seem more inviting than before. Caramilla wasted no time in flicking to the back page and Luques scooted closer in to see for herself. Immediately both of them let out startled yelps and shielded their eyes, and Caramilla slammed the book shut on instinct. That amber light was a hell of a lot brighter than it had any right to be, it damn near blinded the pair of them. Even Mallow seemed irked, his impromptu nap disrupted by the apparent appearance of a sun in the room.

Almost apologetically the light seemed to dim, transitioning from burning brightness to gentle glow. Gingerly Caramilla opened the journal back up, the light fading almost completely and leaving the page with a golden outline. Caramilla snorted at its contents, and Luques smirked and shook her head. Emblazoned across the page were five lines and four pictures which to Caramilla, suddenly seemed awfully familiar. Inscribed in a delicate, formal font, the lines read:

Spiral fruit, stolen charm. Precious treasure of community felled.  
Fluids held in crystal domain, precursor's craft in sealed glory.  
Magnum opus of prideful makers. Sunken vessel…

…and so on, and so forth. Caramilla giggled at the ‘convenience’ of it all.

Still wearing that smirk, Luques turned to face her femme. “Yeah alright. Believe you now.”


	6. Library Stroll

A hand of glass laid atop a small cushion, having been detached from its owner for the night. Its fingers, segmented by rose gold rings, were still and lifeless, lacking the energy that allowed them to animate. Caramilla removed the clasp that covered her shoulder, hiding the transition from dark, star-speckled skin to twisting vines, and placed it on a second cushion beside her hand. She didn’t need to cover it up; practically everybody she’d ever seen had plant parts just like her – just look at the flora atop her wife’s head, an electric blue succulent that certainly caught the eye – but she felt self-conscious nonetheless. Not about the arm itself, which she loved for its aesthetic as well as its enhanced strength, but about the shoulder it was attached too. Perhaps she was worrying too much about her appearance, but Caramilla couldn’t help but feel like the transition from skin to vines looked a little bizarre. Most people she’d met only had flora on their heads and maybe a little decorating their bodies, not an entire arm of it. Hence the rose gold clasp, which both covered her right shoulder and added a stylish flair to her overall look. It was always removed before bed, however, to avoid jabbing Luques with a solid slate of metal in her sleep.

Following the excitement from her journal’s revelation, Caramilla and Luques had quickly remembered that it was, in fact, midnight, and if they stayed up much longer they’d have hell to pay in the morning. The book had been tucked back away in its pocket dimension – another thing Caramilla would love to learn more about – and the pair had decided to call it a night. This promising new information could wait until tomorrow, when the snow would have hopefully cleared enough for a trip to the library.

Right now Luques was brushing her teeth, having changed into a pair of boxers and a t shirt sporting a dandelion, and Caramilla was changing into a set of fluffy pink pyjamas. Luques may have been resistant to November’s chills, but Caramilla needed some extra insulation. To his loudly-voiced dismay, Mallow had been moved from the pillow and was now curled up in his cat bed beside the radiator. Once both women were ready for bed, they snuggled up together for warmth and drifted away within minutes.  
~~~  
Dawn had long broken, bringing with it pale morning light that waved hello between the curtains. Yet by the time Caramilla awoke the birds had completed their morning song, with afternoon steadily approaching. She grumbled as her consciousness returned and then shivered without Luques’ body to keep her warm. The butch must have awoken early, or rather, at a more reasonable time, and set to work on making breakfast, judging by the scent of pancakes slowly filling the house. ‘Lunch’ may have been more accurate at this point, but in her sleep addled state Caramilla couldn’t be bothered with semantics. Languidly, she rolled over to check the time and grimaced at the figure displayed on the cheap, electronic clock: 11:34. Clearly she’d needed a lot of rest, unlike Luques who could go two days without a nap and hardly tire. How Caramilla envied her.

Fifteen minutes later, five being spent just lying in bed mustering the willpower to get up, Caramilla trotted into the tiny kitchen with a sleepy “good morning”, arriving just in time for such a greeting to still be accurate. The smell of breakfast was strong and she soon found herself with a rumbling tummy, drawing a chuckle from Luques. “Morning babe, pancakes will be done in a few,” replied the makeshift chef. She flipped a pancake and caught it perfectly, eyes widening in surprise at her own talent, and Caramilla set down her teacups to give a short round of applause. Coffee would probably have been a better idea given her drowsiness but Caramilla had woken up craving a hot, sugary cup of tea, and knew Luques would appreciate that more than an espresso, too.

Sunlight struggled through the blinds, Luques preferring to work in dim light, and the sound of rain was all but a memory. Caramilla opened the blinds once Luques announced that breakfast was ready and found the outside world slick with last night’s rainfall and nearly devoid of snow. A few patches of frigid white had survived the night, and now dotted the landscape like birthmarks. The dressing gown currently enveloping most of Caramilla’s body kept her fairly warm, but the sight of snow still sent a little chill through her form. Thankfully, the gentle sound of contact between tablemat and plate alerted her that pancakes were served, and she wasted no time in sitting down and digging in. Luques sat opposite her and passed a large bottle of syrup, Caramilla voicing her thanks through a mouthful of food before smothering her pancakes in a ghoulish amount of the stuff.

Luques had been desensitized to this habit over the years and didn’t even raise an eyebrow.

The two enjoyed breakfast in silence for the first few minutes, neither being sure how to bring up whatever it was that had occurred last night. Luques ended up taking the plunge, sipping her tea before asking, “So what d’you think we should do with that poem?”

Caramilla chewed for a moment before answering. “Well it’s clearly something worth looking into if it’s affecting my journal, and if that lady was telling the truth,” (‘and, you know, real,’ she didn’t have to say,) “then I definitely wanna cast that spell.”

Luques hummed in acknowledgment and speared another piece of pancake, while Caramilla set down her fork and materialised her memory journal. It popped into existence and landed in her hand, and she turned to the back page to scan its new contents. She’d briefly considered taking the book to whichever authorities dealt with anomalies like this, before realising that such an action would no doubt deny her the chance to investigate further. Neither of them had the slightest clue as to what each line referred to, but after more discussion they agreed that the library was their best bet.

Dishes were done and the pair shrugged into their coats, slipped on their gloves and tightened their scarves. A chipper “mrow!” alerted Caramilla to Mallow's arrival, their pet quickly padding over and brushing against her legs before approaching his food bowl. “Don't let him trick you, I fed him like an hour ago,” Luques warned. Mallow still tried looking from Caramilla to the bowl and back again, but soon realised he wasn't going to win and ate some of the remaining food with less enthusiasm. Caramilla laughed and scratched his fluffy head.

A little after one, Luques and Caramilla left the cosiness of their home and began the trek to Lucidum’s library, hand in hand. Mallow initially followed them outside, but made a displeased noise as he stepped in one of the remaining patches of snow and darted back to the warmth of the kitchen. Despite the storm’s final act having played out last night, clouds still loomed overhead and Caramilla had brought an umbrella just in case. Beneath the pale sky the phosphor district buzzed along as usual, buildings lit up from the outside by eye-catching neon lights. The couple stayed away from the pavement’s edge, lest a car drive past and spray them with puddle water, and Luques had to almost drag Caramilla away from a cute café as they passed it. She wasn’t even hungry, but the smell of cinnamon emanating from the building was a lure like no other.

Before long they had reached Lucidum’s heart, a bustling square of clashing neon colours highlighting varied shops and stalls. A handful of residents said their good mornings as the two passed by, Luques having garnered a good deal of respect as one of the town’s most skilled lampworkers. The library came into view as they walked, its vintage shell contrasted by more modern fixtures like automatic doors and of course, a fluorescent sign.

Warmth instantly washed over Caramilla and Luques as the doors slid shut behind them; they hastened to remove their winter layers before overheating occurred. A quick look at the front desk confirmed that they were in luck as Pepper was working today, their red flora and large glasses unmistakable. The studious butch looked up at the sound of footsteps, their space-dark face crinkling in a smile.

“Of course, the pair of you would show up as soon as the snow clears. Couldn’t keep you away if I tried,” Pepper teased. Their voice had a warm, comforting quality that only enhanced the library’s cosy atmosphere.

Pepper was a fellow butch and a figure that Luques truly looked up to. She’d drop by frequently just to spend time with the librarian, revelling in the feeling of camaraderie and even picking up her own interest in books, though it could never match Caramilla’s fascination with memory journals. If Luques was a respected figure in Lucidum, Pepper might as well have run the town. The library had garnered a multitude of regulars just thanks to Pepper’s presence, though the butch miraculously stayed humble.

Caramilla enjoyed visiting Pepper for a more aesthetic reason.

Luques inclined her head towards Caramilla. “Well you know how it is, this one can’t go a week without visiting her favourite butch,” she said with mock-disappointment.

Pepper held back a snicker, but their grin widened nonetheless. When they next spoke their eyes focused on Caramilla, and their voice took on a sly edge. “A femme’s got needs, Luques, and who am I to say no?”

Mallow flowers bloomed on Caramilla’s cheeks, threatening to encompass her entire face with the force of her blush. She tried valiantly to think of a comeback, but settled on stuttering, “I’m gonna go find books” a little too loudly, then knocking over a standing book and elbowing Luques’ ribs in petty revenge. The butches laughed good-naturedly before the librarian returned to their computer and the lampworker quickly caught up with her wife. Despite her claim, Caramilla had only walked a few feet away and now stood with her arms crossed and her flowers lighting up her face.

“I’m starting to think you’ve learned a little too much from that Pepper,” Caramilla complained, immediately taking Luques’ hand nonetheless. Luques laughed again and steered them towards a non-fiction aisle.

“Payback,” was all she said.

“Payback?” the femme questioned.

Luques nodded. “The other day, in Chalia’s? You two were conspiring against me. I’ve never seen her that flirty.”

Now it was Caramilla’s turn to laugh. “You caught me. Glass-handed.”

Luques started walking faster to create a distance such that she would not be associated with her fiend of a wife.

The pair received a nod from a neighbour as they explored the rows of bookshelves but aside from that, it seemed the library was vacant. Unsurprising given that the snowfall had only just ended, most sensible people must have been staying at home for fear of the storm’s reprise.  
Lucidum’s library was, indeed, a stark contrast to the one in Caramilla’s dream, with its far more modest bookshelves that barely exceeded her own height, let alone rising into the heavens. Elegant candelabras were nowhere to be seen, instead the artificial glow of fluorescent lights lit up the library, and rather than a melancholy piano piece, a small radio on Pepper’s desk played soft love songs quietly enough not to disturb visitors.  
The two chatted softly as they scoured shelves for… anything, really. Any book that might hold even a hint of an explanation regarding the odd poem broadcast through Caramilla’s dream. Before long however, they reached the conclusion that searching for something so vague was pointless.

“This is pointless,” stated Caramilla.

“Not finding anything too helpful yet,” Luques murmured her agreement from behind book of poems. She clapped the book shut as a new idea took hold of her, slipping it back onto the shelf and taking Caramilla’s hand.

“If we assume those things need to be found in order, we should start with the plant one,” Luques guided Caramilla to the section on botany, where a handful of potted plants rested in the windowsills in an attempt at being thematic.

Caramilla brought forth her journal and flipped to the back page one-handedly. “Spiral fruit, stolen charm. Precious treasure of community felled,” she recited.

“Yeah, the plant one,” Luques agreed.

Given Lucidum’s more industrial nature, there wasn’t a vast assortment of books on botany in its library, which narrowed down their options. Caramilla’s gaze danced across the contents of a book claiming to catalogue every fruit, mentally making note of which she could use next time she felt like baking a pie. The closest thing she found was a shelberry, a common ingredient in many a fruity recipe and bearing a spiral-shaped pip. She presented the page to Luques who met her shrug with one of her own.

“Feels like something so common wouldn’t be part of a fancy spell,” Luques mused.

Caramilla laughed as a memory resurfaced. “Shit yeah, remember when I tried using leftover shelberries in a spell?”

Now it was Luques’ turn to laugh. “How many hours did it take to clean up that mess? I wanna say five?”

Footsteps approached and the two turned, still chuckling, to find Pepper approaching with a grin evident in their eyes.

“Seems you two have discovered the hidden comedy of botany,” the librarian said. “I haven’t seen either of you in this section before, looking for anything specific?”

Caramilla’s eyes lit up as she remembered the background in farming that Pepper had once spoken of. If anyone could identify a fruit, it’d be them.

Pepper dug a pair of reading glasses from their shirt pocket and slipped them on, their lenses comically small compared to the librarian’s large, burgundy eyes. They peered at the back page of Caramilla’s journal before glancing up at her.

“You’re full of surprises today, I never knew you liked poetry!”

Luques snickered while her femme blushed. “This isn’t Cara’s work, it appeared in her journal after she had some strange dream. We’re gonna try to find the stuff described in the poem to see what it’s all about.”

A quick raise of the eyebrows betrayed Pepper’s interest. “I don’t think I’ve heard of a memory journal responding to dreams before, sounds like yours has got something special going on.” They took a closer look at the journal itself, scrutinizing its uniform appearance. “Couldn’t be a new model, could it?”

Caramilla hugged the book to her chest as it was handed back to her. “I’d highly doubt it, I’ve had this one since I was born,” she said. Then, “There are different models?”

Pepper chortled, “Not that I know of, but I can’t think of any other explanation. Anyway, I might know the fruit you’re after, but you’d be damn hard-pressed to get your hands on one.” A flick of the wrist told Caramilla and Luques to follow them.

“I’ve never seen it before myself, but then I expect ninety-nine percent of the population hasn’t either, so I refuse to feel too left out.”

The trio arrived at Pepper’s office, the other staff recognising Caramilla and Luques and raising no questions. Contrasting the librarian’s dapper appearance was an exquisitely messy desk, smothered in books and paperwork and coffee stains aplenty. An apple core lay perched on the corner, which Pepper embarrassedly nudged into a bin beside the desk. They quickly sorted through several books that were stacked haphazardly while the couple took in the scenery. Next to Pepper’s laptop was a framed photograph of a field of wheat, with a much younger version of the librarian sitting cross-legged in front of who must have been their parents. A few beads of sweat could be seen on young Pepper’s forehead, no doubt paying the price for wearing a thick shirt while being baked below the blazing sun.

“I was actually flicking through this the other night,” Pepper’s voice recalled their attention. “It’s an older version of the book you were just reading, got some fruits that were removed from newer editions because they’re so rare that I guess nobody thought them worth including anymore. Damn shame if you ask me.”

“Pepper said fruit rights,” Luques stated, setting the photograph back down and walking over to peer over Pepper’s left shoulder. Caramilla had already taken the right.

“Like a pair of parrots, you two. Always thought you’d be lovebirds,” Pepper said, glancing at the two women currently making a statement against personal space. Caramilla moved with a little reluctance, Luques following suit with a smirk.

“Been assigning us birds, Pep?”

“I’ve a surprising amount of spare time.”

Occupying the page was a seemingly hand drawn illustration of some bizarre kind of fruit, roughly pear-shaped with a stalk that coiled in a spiral and was even larger than the fruit itself. The ink was of a dark brown colour rather than the deep, royal purple found in the Author’s novels, a sign of both age and a lack of relation to the monarchy. Many books were still published by other writers, even one of the kingdom’s queens couldn’t write every book in the land, of course, but many writers had become disheartened over the years when their works received scarce attention compared to those of the Author. It was not uncommon for Pepper and Luques to find solidarity in their disdain for the lack of variety now found in the library. Caramilla didn’t mind it very much herself, but the butches’ grumbling still amused her.

Caramilla carefully traced the spiral stem with her pinkie, eyes narrowed in unnecessary concentration as she spoke. “Definitely matches the description,” she murmured. Her eyes turned to the description off the side, and her finger strayed from the spiral as the picture lost her attention. “A peculiar, numbered type, the ama- amage-“

“Amajnoll,” Pepper supplied.

“-is distinct for its impressively large and distinctly shaped stem, stretching some thirteen inches in its spiralling form,” Caramilla read aloud. “Rarely have more than one been seen at once, being near-impossible to grow with its intricate requirements. The amajnoll’s only known source is an equally unique plant found only within the heart of the Verdance.”

At this, Pepper straightened up in excitement, their shoulders quickly occupying the spaces where Luques and Caramilla’s faces were moments prior.

“I forgot they grew in that place, oh, I’ve been meaning to go there for ages!” they exclaimed. “The other day this cute femme actually asked me if I wanted to like, go there together? Which is just like, the most buckwild location for a date?”

“You said yes,” Luques accused.

“I said yes but still! Who asks their crush out to a forest? I love it. I love her already,” the librarian’s voice smiled.

Caramilla resisted the urge to ask for all the details, with no small amount of effort. Instead her eyes continued to scan the paragraph before her until she was satisfied, making a mental note of the page number and snapping the book shut. “Well we’ve found the first clue, do you mind if we take this, Pepper?” she asked.

“This is a library, so I’d say it should be fine,” Pepper replied. “I’ve got more books on farm-related stuff if it piques your interest.”

A wave of the hand dismissed the offer. “Just the one’s fine, thanks, we’re city slickers,” said Caramilla. They left Pepper’s office, Caramilla shooting another glance at the frankly adorable photo of a younger Pepper, and the book was safely tucked inside her handbag. Harsh fluorescent lights replaced the dimmer lighting of the office as they stepped back into the library’s lobby and looking at the front desk showed that nobody had been left waiting for the librarian to return. It seemed Pepper had been correct in their statement that few besides the couple were silly enough to venture out in this weather.

Caramilla turned to Luques when they reached the front desk. “Do you think we should look for information on the other items while we’re here? Or should we take them one at a time?”

Luques scratched her chin absently. “One at a time, I reckon. We should see if we can even find this fruit before we start planning for the other stuff,” she suggested.

Already the rest of the strange passage was running through Caramilla’s mind, she had to force herself to focus on the task at hand. That bizarre dream was still fresh in her head – she generally remembered her dreams rather well, but this one felt as solid as her memory of the last few minutes. More solid, even; it had taken a foothold in her mind in a way different to any other memory. Always a little present, a low hum at the core of her consciousness, as though urging her to proceed, and making doing so her new life goal.

Caramilla found it a little eerie.

The sound of books being stacked reminded them of Pepper’s presence. “If you’re heading off to the Verdance soon, I’d take something with you to protect yourselves,” they advised. “From what I’ve heard, the forest can be a bit dangerous at the best of times, but the news says bandits are running around in there as of late.”

“Bandits?” Caramilla queried.

Pepper nodded, shifting one pile of books to the side and starting on another. “And the book makes that fruit sound pretty unique, what with it only being found in that place. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re looking for it too.”

Caramilla and Luques could take care of themselves rather well, but the thought of opposition still hadn’t crossed their minds. Truth be told they were a little rusty, it had been a while since they’d last had to defend themselves. Looking up, Pepper could tell that they had sparked a revelation in the pair.

“I’d offer to come and help but work’s work, I don’t think my next day off is for another few weeks,” they said. “You’ll be fine though! If you run into any trouble you can always back out, see if there are any similar fruits worth looking for. Less scarce ones, ideally.” Pepper returned to their sorting, wanting not to give the impression that they knew best; the librarian was all too aware that Luques in particular may treat their word as gospel. This was something the couple had to decide for themselves.

The pair looked at eachother for further reassurance. “What do you think?” Caramilla asked. “Think it’s worth a try?”

Luques glanced at Pepper and was met with a mildly hesitant thumbs up. “I mean this is what you’ve been waiting for, right? A chance to try and solve that mystery. If we play our cards right, I’m sure we can avoid conflict. And if not,” she gripped an imaginary handle, “we already know we fight well together.”

Peachy pink eyes glowed with eagerness, and Luques knew she’d said the right thing. Amid the soft sound of leather-backed books piling up in the background, Caramilla let out a sound of confidence, gripping Luques’ hand and throwing her gaze into that of her butch.

“Then it’s decided! I don’t think that dream would even let me back out regardless, this feels like something we have to do,” Caramilla cast her eyes back towards the librarian. “Appreciate the help as always Pepper, is there anything we can do in return?”

Pepper chortled and waved a hand, nearly knocking over a stack of novels. “Sweetheart this is literally my job, I promise you don’t have to repay me.” Yet the earnestness present in the femme’s face chipped at their resolve, and not for the first time, Pepper found themselves conceding to a pretty girl. “I suppose if you happen to find more than one amajnoll, I’d happily lighten your load. I’ve heard the taste is divine.”

Caramilla smiled, shooting them a thumbs up and a “sounds perfect!”

The trio stayed chatting for a brief while, the earlier topic nudged aside in favour of more casual catching up. In such a sleepy town routine was inevitable, so even after a handful of weeks there was little to report. Somehow they still kept up conversation until the world beyond the windows was devoid of snow, inviting in more visitors and giving Pepper something to do. After a yawn-ridden exchange of farewells – the tea had just made Caramilla sleepier - the three parted ways and two pairs of boots wandered home, their owners connected at the hand.


	7. Glade of Spirals

Caramilla’s step held a noticeable spring on the way home, and her eyes shone with eager determination. Luques had to admit that such excitement was infectious; she herself hadn’t known the thrill of adventure since she’d lived with her mothers many years back. The prospect of leaving their comfortable home town for what could be a good while played with her nerves, but business had been slow anyway so a temporary loss of profits surely wouldn’t kill them. They’d arranged for Pepper to feed Mallow if they ended up being away for more than a day at a time, and getting more idealistic for a moment, discovering such a long-held secret about their kingdom’s magical journals could lead to more profit than the busiest day of work.

Luques spent most of their journey home repeating this mantra to herself, as if to justify their decision.

As expected, Mallow was nowhere to be seen when the two approached their home, not even a cat-shaped blur at the window. They’d really done it now, not one but two mornings this week they’d left him alone for more than an hour. Neither of them wanted to think what would happen if they did leave home for over a day, they’d likely return to find the house in shambles.

For now though, everything appeared to be as they’d left it. This included the radiator having been left on while they were out, Luques cringing at their forgetfulness, though the cat had surely appreciated it. Though Caramilla was still sleepy she was eager to head back out, planning just to grab some essentials and head to the Verdance. Luques, however, felt less prepared. Leaving so soon, having only just made the decision, especially when it was already afternoon and it'd likely be almost dawn before they arrived, didn't seem like the best plan to her. As much as she hated to get in the way of Caramilla's excitement, she needed a little time to get ready.

"Hey Cara?" the femme turned at Luques' voice.

"Hm?" Caramilla's eyes gave a brief glow as she responded. She already had a backpack slung across one shoulder, a water bottle close to falling out.

Luques twiddled her thumbs. "D'you think it'd be okay to take a day or two to prepare first? I'm a little hesitant to head out right away," she said.

A blush bloomed on Caramilla's face as she realized her hasty plan might not be a great idea. "Oh!" she replied, "Oh gosh you're right, we don't even have a tent, we'd be sleeping out in the open if it took longer than a day." She let the backpack slide off her shoulder where it dropped to the floor and the bottle toppled back inside.

"I'm sure we can find one pretty cheap," Luques reassured her. Only once had they been camping together, on one of their first dates, in fact, but an accident involving a femme eager to impress and a subsequent spell gone embarrassingly wrong had made that tent thoroughly unusable. The date had been fun regardless, but the two had decided they weren't much for camping. Something about too many bugs and too few mattresses.

So it was that for the next few days, life remained rather routine. A tent was purchased, though its low price cast doubts about its quality, and Caramilla's headache made no appearance. Replacing the occasional stabs of pain were flashes of familiar imagery across her mind, reminding her of the bizarre dream and encouraging her to get a move on already. Luques soon warmed up to the idea of adventure, Caramilla's excitement drowning out her own nerves, and though they never ended up sparring (worries of making one poorly timed dodge and slipping on black ice were fresh in their minds) the two felt confident that they could still fight if necessary. They were hoping their hesitation in setting out would mean that the Verdance would be free of the suspected bandits when they arrived, though neither of them were holding their breath.

~~~

Finally they were ready to set out, eagerness overtaking caution, so much so that they awoke at the crack of dawn. With a muffled groan, Caramilla rolled out of bed and faceplanted on the carpet. Despite how early it was, she was ready to get going. They'd decided on what to bring and just needed to pack, so Caramilla immediately got to work. Luques knew better however and prepared two cups of coffee after changing into more forest-appropriate attire. If the Verdance really was something of a threat, they’d want to be wide awake. Caramilla drank her coffee and darted around the house, packing drinks, food and basic travelling equipment into Luques’ sturdy backpack. Though Luques had visited the Verdance once before, she’d been about six years old at the time and Caramilla had never stepped foot in the place, so neither of them really knew what to expect. As a spellcaster, Caramilla didn’t need to pack extra tools for defence, whereas Luques headed to her work room to retrieve her own weapon. Only she wasn’t the first to arrive, apparently. Caramilla stood in the middle of the room holding a long, glass lance with a padded handle.

“Oh my god that thing has two ends be careful,” Luques hurried, approaching Cara with a caution that made the femme roll her eyes.

“I’ve held this before you know, I even used it to fight off that guy that one time,” she said.

“Yes, and you nearly blinded both of you. Please can I have it back?” Luques replied.

Caramilla handed it over handle-first, and Luques ran her thumb over the sigil in its base. The mark glowed, and the lance’s lethal end dissipated, the glass appearing to shatter in slow motion before vanishing completely. Luques couldn’t remember why she’d left it active after she’d used it last; she made a mental note to be more mindful in future. Her attention was drawn back to Caramilla, who after rooting through a drawer pulled out a belt and tossed it to Luques. It was made of a sturdy, black material and had a pouch that fit the lance handle perfectly inside. Luques wasted no time in fastening it around her waist and depositing the lance, then retrieved the backpack of supplies Caramilla had left at the door.

"Are we taking your bike or the tram?" Caramilla asked, hurriedly applying makeup in the mirror.

Luques made a face. "I don't fancy the idea of leaving my bike unattended on the outskirts of the forest, especially if there are nasties around." A hum of agreement came from Caramilla.

Something soft brushed against Luques’ ankles as she entered the hallway and looking down it seemed Mallow had finally let neediness override annoyance. He purred quietly as his nose rubbed against her leg, and guilt dropped into Luques’ stomach at the prospect of leaving him alone again. She looked over at Caramilla, who took the hint and darted into the kitchen, returning with a handful of cat treats and a saucer of milk. Both were placed on the floor beside Mallow, who lost interest in his mothers and immediately began scarfing the food down. The two quickly and quietly grabbed their coats and bags and made their way out of the house before the cat could notice a thing.

The bus ride to the tram station was a fairly short one, it didn’t take long before houses and cafes ceased zipping by the window and the large grey building came into view. The driver had been different today; Tobalk hadn’t been there to ask about Caramilla’s wellbeing. Neither Caramilla nor Luques had taken the tram many times, they spent most of their lives tucked away in Lucidum thanks to Luques’ job role. As for the station itself, it was an ancient thing, one of the few buildings to avoid being knocked down and replaced with a sleeker, modern version in recent years. It and the library seemed almost out of place as a result.

The Verdance wasn’t one of the more touristic locations in Reverie, so the tram fare to reach it was mercifully low. Caramilla began to approach a vending machine before they boarded, but Luques tapped her backpack in reminder of the snacks they’d packed. Thankfully though the building was older than they were, the trams themselves were more modern. They shared a uniform design with the other trams throughout Reverie, and in such an old station they looked as out of place as sports cars in a crumbling castle.

Only a handful of others were seated inside, so the pair had almost the entire tram to themselves. An emotionless, pre-recorded voice sounded from a speaker overhead, stating their destination and reminding everyone to stay seated. With barely a whir of action the tram took off, its sleek metal carapace moving near soundlessly out of the station. Beyond the windows zipped by trees swaying in the morning breeze, as well as the handful of buildings stationed on the outskirts of Lucidum. Before long, any impressive view that might have been gleaned was replaced by the ugly industrial landscape of the old phosphor mines separating Lucidum from the Verdance. In lieu of sightseeing, Luques pulled a book out of the bag. Trade in the Stars: Sweet Valiance was emblazoned across the cover, its typeface appearing chipped with age. It was the… fourth? Fifth? Book in one of the few novel series to remain popular in the face of the Queens’ literary dominance. Luques had owned her copy for several years but never found the time nor the patience to actually sit down and read the thing, despite considering herself a fan of the series.

Caramilla peered over and adopted a fond expression after seeing the cover. She’d once teased Luques for her interest in sappy romantic stories – as though she herself wasn’t near-obsessed with them – but truth be told it was one of the many things that endeared her to Luques. Caramilla knew that Luques likely wouldn’t dare read such a novel in a more crowded public place, the pressure of appearing tough and above such sappiness taking its toll. It was nice to know that at home, and evidently, on an almost empty tram, Luques felt comfortable letting her guard down. It was equally nice to be able to look over Luques’ shoulder and read along – Caramilla herself had forgotten to bring a book.

Half a flask of coffee later, several heads jerked up in response to an enormous bang. Trade in the Stars shot out of Luques’ grasp as she startled, nearly braining the passenger sitting opposite. Luques’ hand instead moved to the pouch on her belt, checking for the reassuring weight of her lance handle. Tense quiet settled over the carriage, its handful of passengers exchanging concerned looks and awaiting further commotion. The tram hadn’t stopped, it was still gliding along the rail like nothing had happened. Nor had that emotionless voice piped up overhead. A minute passed in silence, Luques’ hand never moving from her belt and Caramilla poised to move at a moment’s notice, yet no danger arose.

“Bandits?” Caramilla murmured.

Luques relaxed slightly at her wife’s voice. “Could be. If we’re unlucky, that might be them heading to the forest at the same time as us.”

“And if we’re lucky?”

“I dunno we just hit a deer or something.”

Caramilla thumped Luques’ side while the latter laughed softly. Seeing this, the other passengers similarly relaxed, though any low conversation that may have been going on before was now ever quieter. The rest of the journey went by without commotion, though the coffee flask remained half full. The pair were already alert, neither of them needed more caffeine.

~~~

Mining facilities turned to lush greenery as the Verdance came into view. Its tallest trees spiralled into the heavens, twisting around one another as if fighting on their way to the sky. A meagre station sat at its border, appearing even older than its sibling in Lucidum. The tram slowed to a halt and its passengers disembarked, stepping out from the pleasant conditions of the carriage into surprising humidity. Whilst home had been frigid, just now recovering from an onslaught of snow, the forest mere miles away felt like a little pocket of summer.

Gloves were stuffed in pockets and coats fastened around waists. There was nobody at the station waiting to return to town, so after a few minutes the tram began its return journey alone. Most of the other visitors headed immediately for a nearby lake, carrying backpacks and fishing gear, while others, including Luques and Caramilla, marched straight into the forest.

“Do you have the fruit book?” asked Luques.

Caramilla dug around in the backpack and retrieved the book in question. She’d bookmarked the page about the amajnoll, now the plan was to search for the picture’s likeness. An arduous task given its rarity, and the vastness of the Verdance, but one eagerly undertaken. Their stunning surroundings surely helped, the environment caked in emerald green and dotted with flora of every colour. Caramilla handed over the book and kneeled to inspect a bright blue flower, finding that even its stem coiled around itself in a spiral.

“Why’s it all twisted?” she asked.

Luques glanced down from the book. “Haven’t a clue. I think everything in the area just grows like that.” Sure enough, were they to take a close look, the two would have found that every blade of grass beneath their feet was a tiny spiral, even bouncing back into shape after being trodden on.

In lieu of a clear path, Caramilla and Luques chose to head in the direction that seemed least overgrown with greenery. There was no telling what properties any of these plants could have, or what could have made their homes amongst them. The path they chose was still thick with flowers, but at least it didn’t feel like they were wading through an impenetrable green mass. Birdsong accompanied their traversal, echoing down from the menagerie in the trees. Looking up, Caramilla shielded her eyes and could just make out the forms of a few birds. They were naturally more exotic than those found in town but held no peculiar shape. At least they’ve been spared a spiraled fate, she thought, do they come from the forest or did they just migrate here?

The environment only became denser the further they walked, with enormous leaves and petals acting almost as living doors. More than once the pair had to steer clear of something that looked suspiciously like a bee hive, accompanied by strangely soft buzzing. They found little fauna along their way but assumed that most creatures with sense would be higher in the trees, away from the sea of greenery below. Clearly, the two shared a look, they were the ones with little sense.

"Is it just me," Luques said, "or do these trees not look structurally sound?"

All around them, towering trees in various shades of brown twisted around each other. Singular trees appeared rare, in fact, the majority being wrapped around at least one partner. Though interesting and rather pretty to look at, the tightness of their twisting was somewhat alarming. Wood creaked and splintered, the trees appearing to strangle rather than merely embrace one another, and it appeared the creatures having made home in their branches had noticed this too. A few families of birds took to the sky, working together to carry their nests in their beaks, and a handful of lizards leaped to the ground below, though thankfully not too close to Luques and Caramilla. With a series of resounding cracks, several of the trees were broken apart, crushed by their stronger siblings, and though both explorers braced themselves to dodge the falling remains, no wood hit the ground. Rather, each chunk of shattered tree slowed to a halt in the air, then flew at the still standing trees that had broken them. The pieces merged with the wholes like putty, solid wood becoming flexible and almost liquid as the trees joined together, and in a few short moments the number of trees was halved, with even taller, thicker and more elegant ones decorating the scene.

A pair of wide eyes gazed upon the new flora. "Well!" said Caramilla, "I've never seen that in Lucidum!"

These new trees were indeed most peculiar, the contrasting shades of wood from the different trees that made up each one forming intricate patterns across their bodies. A few had branches quite low to the ground, and the two could see that even the leaves appeared tattooed, decorated with beautiful symbols in vibrant colours. The creatures that had left just as quickly returned, birds dropping their nests onto the now thicker branches and lizards climbing to the top. It seemed this was a normal occurrence for them, begging the question of how the Verdance was so vast after all this time. Would its trees someday all converge into one enormous titan, a tree so over-sized that it took up the entire forest?

Fortunately such a question was answered almost immediately. The grand trees shook and acorns dropped from their branches, seeming to come from inside the wood and simply phase through. They hit the ground without a lot of force, tiny as they were, yet sunk deep into the earth. In response to the acorns' distribution, dirt immediately sealed over the holes in the ground, and all across the floor tiny sprouts started popping up. More trees would grow in time, joining their vaster parents and eventually combining to become just as large, continuing the cycle ever more. The Verdance wasn't contracting, it was expanding.

Luques had been quick enough to actually catch one of the acorns before it hit the ground (thankfully it didn't go straight through her hand as its fellows had through the floor), and inspecting it revealed that, perhaps predictably, it too bore the spiral design peculiar to the Verdance. Without warning, a tree branch reached over and smacked the acorn out of her hand, sending it into the dirt where it produced another sprout. Caramilla gave a startled laugh and the two backed away, not wanting to apparently annoy the trees further.

As soon as a small clearing came into view, Luques shrugged off the backpack and sat down on a tree stump - one of the trees must have had trouble reforming. She rustled through the bag and rescued two muffins from the mess of sweets and supplies, baked days ago by Caramilla and looking a little sad in their now-crushed state. One was tossed Caramilla’s way, the baker catching it, unwrapping it, and biting it in half near-instantly. Luques chuckled at the sight; anyone would think it had been hours since Caramilla last ate.

While Caramilla tore into her muffin, Luques took another look at the drawing and began rotating slowly on the tree stump, peering out into the forest around them as if the amajnoll would be hiding mere meters away. Caramilla observed her rotating wife and similarly gazed through the trees, searching for a reasonably clear path. Both efforts were, of course, fruitless, and after a few glugs of water each the two threw themselves back into the thick of the forest, traipsing through the overgrowth and weaving between trees.

~~~

“I think a bug climbed in my boot.”

Caramilla turned at the sound of Luques’ voice and found the butch frozen in place, one leg in the air.

“Pardon?” she said.

“There’s a bug. It’s in my boot,” Luques stated stiffly.

A moment passed before Luques ripped the boot from her foot and shook it violently, shivering with revulsion as a long, segmented insect fell out into the grass. Shivering might have been an understatement, Luques looked like she’d been electrocuted. An indecipherable stream of panicked sounds filled the air as she hopped away from the spot where the bug had been released, and she looked almost ready to hurl the boot away into the overgrowth.

“It’s okay!! It’s gone now!” Caramilla reasoned, noticing a butterfly about to land on Luques’ shoulder and shooing it away as subtly as she could. Though the two agreed on many things, each held opposing opinions regarding insects. Caramilla loved them, at least the pretty ones, while Luques could not stand them for the life of her. Luques took another few moments to calm down before placing her foot gingerly back in her boot, and the pair continued onward, making a concerted effort to avoid tall grass as much as possible.

The pleasant sound of birdsong grew quieter the further they walked, replaced by the ambience of singing insects and rushing water. Before long they were hopping between stones in a clear, sparkling pond, on their way to inspect something in the distance that looked, to Luques, ‘vaguely amajnoll-shaped’.

They were therefore understandably startled when a great blast shook the trees, and something metallic was spat out of the greenery up ahead. Smoke belched into the crisp air and birds scattered from the trees for fear of choking. Luques stumbled as she was about to hop, toppling into the shallow water and landing on her hands and knees. Caramilla retained her footing and reached out to help Luques up, not taking her eyes off of the sudden intrusion. The smoking shape appeared to be a motorcycle, looking about as out of place in the lush surroundings as a lump of coal in a flowerbed. Despite the gases it was pumping out, the vehicle roared into life and sped back into the trees, trampling any flora unlucky enough to meet with its tires.

Luques cringed at the sensation of soaked clothes sticking to her skin, attempting to dry her hands on her trousers before remembering that those were wet too. Instead she frustratedly shook her hands dry and hoped that the Verdance’s heat would dry her clothes quickly, Caramilla giving her a sympathetic look.

“So,” Luques grumbled, “what was that all about?”

Caramilla returned her attention to the other side of the pond. The plant life, once densely packed together, was now parted neatly and, in places, slightly smouldering. They could still faintly hear the motorbike’s engine, its gruff growl growing steadily quieter.

"No idea," she said. "Though you were right to not bring your bike. That one's made a right mess of the place."

The two made the last couple of hops to dry land and found that the amajnoll-shaped object was simply another bizarre flower. Luques huffed and wrung water out of her tank top. High above, the sky had begun losing its blueness, with pink and orange tones seeping in. Dusk approached steadily and crickets sang their song; Caramilla and Luques agreed to pitch their tent for the night. After a brief investigation of the smouldering surroundings to ensure that nothing was likely to catch fire, they set up the small tent not far from the pond. The birds in the trees grew sleepy in their nests and a dark blanket of stars covered the spiral glade.


	8. Come Rain or Snow

Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the tent, Luques was grumbling. She grumbled about the insects hiding in the grass, the sogginess of her jeans, and the burnt state of the sausage speared on her fork. Caramilla took a bite of her own supper, which was also a little singed – neither of them had much experience cooking by campfire. As she muttered her complaints, Luques took a knife from the backpack and began scraping some of the burnt skin off the sausage, letting it collect in her lap. She took a brief break from griping to ask Caramilla for the sauce and smothered her supper in it, hoping that their makeshift puree of fruits found in the forest would drown out the distinct taste of overcooked meat.

“Should’ve brought beans, they’d’ve been harder to burn,” Luques murmured, face relaxing a little at the surprisingly pleasant flavour of fruity meat.

Caramilla pulled a tin from the bag and waved it in the air. “We did, I can make us some if you’d like?”

“Oh, it’s alright, best save that for later,” Luques replied. The two had come to the realization that yes, the Verdance was indeed a vast and tricky landscape, and it’d likely be days before they came across an amajnoll (and even that was being generous). They’d squashed a decent amount of food into that backpack and hoped they’d find the fruit before running out, but even then the forest could keep them fed as long as they didn’t mind adopting a temporary vegetarian diet.

Warmth and comfort emanated from the campfire just outside, illuminating the pondwater and giving some light to the small tent, though its far corners remained dark. A few fish could be seen swimming sleepily beneath the water’s surface; Caramilla had proposed catching and cooking a few should their supplies run dry. Luques collected the fragments of burnt food on her still-damp tank top, lifting the top slightly to act as a pouch. She got up carefully and left the tent, shaking the fragments off onto the ground and taking in the view of the water, soon deciding to sit beside the campfire and enjoy the sight a little longer. Moonlight smothered the pond in its pale gaze, in fact it coated the entire area. The Verdance’s vibrant green visage had turned teal under the watchful eye of the moon.

“Truth or dare.”

Luques turned from the campfire to find Caramilla watching her expectantly in the tent, boredom born of tiredness was clear on the femme’s face. The butch scratched her chin and didn’t move, instead patting the soft ground beside her in invitation. “Dare,” she replied.

Footsteps sounded as Caramilla joined her, both bodies bathed in the fire’s warm tones. Caramilla took a moment before responding.

“I dare you… to cook me another sausage. Perfectly this time,” her voice was slow and sleepy but held that familiar tease. Luques huffed and got to work while Caramilla leaned against her shoulder. From the corner of her eye, Luques could see Caramilla’s eyes slowly closing, though she didn’t fall asleep.

“Do you think we’ll see that bike again?” Caramilla asked softly.

The sausage sizzled as the flames tasted it. “Hope not,” replied Luques. “I’d rather not find out what the kind of person who’d trample half a forest with a motorbike would do to anyone who got in their way.”

Caramilla nuzzled Luques’ shoulder with her cheek, a true sign of her sleepiness. “Who said we’d get in their way?”

“I doubt there’s much of interest in the Verdance besides the amajnoll. I’d imagine they’re here for the same reason as us,” said Luques, the campfire’s embers dancing to the song of their talk. In a few more moments the flames decided the meat was well-cooked, and Luques had to agree. She blew on the sausage and set it on a paper plate, which was then handed to Caramilla.

“Here comes the grub.”

But Caramilla held the plate limply and her head had begun to hang. Luques gently shook her shoulder but Caramilla gave no response, aside from a few quiet mumbles that soon turned to snores. Luques gave a little sigh as her hard work went to waste; why ask for more food if you’re going to fall asleep? She had half a mind to eat it herself but then that would break the terms of the dare, and Luques could never commit such an offence. Instead she wrapped the food in a napkin and took it back to the tent, returning afterwards to put out the fire and bring Caramilla inside. The femme woke up slightly as she was picked up and remained just about lucid enough to crawl into her sleeping bag, before her dreams pulled her back into their thrall. With the campfire extinguished, the tent zipped up and her wife safe and snug in her polka dot sleeping bag, Luques let out a well-earned yawn and changed into her nightwear. Her consciousness left her almost as soon as she laid down and the moon watched over them both as they rested amongst the greenery.

~~~

Birds chirped and chattered, and the crickets ceased their song as daylight swam across the Verdance. The tent was cheap and made of a rather thin material, so the morning’s rays had little trouble seeping through and waking Luques and Caramilla. The former rose groggily while the latter mumbled about ‘just one more minute’, apparently able to find great comfort in her cheap and slightly-too-small sleeping bag. To her credit, Caramilla did get up more quickly after remembering where she was, the excitement of their little quest returning with a passion. Equally passionate was her stomach’s protest, nearly drowning out the birdsong.

“Morning to you too,” Luques greeted. Wrapped in the stripes of her blue pyjamas, she wasted no time in draining half of the remaining dregs of coffee from their flask; the two had made the smart decision to save a little coffee for morning, with no shortage of restraint. Caramilla drank the last as it was offered and put the flask away.

“Heyyy, did we bring any breakfast?” Caramilla replied. Her stomach growled again to punctuate her question.

“Funny you should ask,” Luques remarked, “I actually made you some breakfast nice and early.”

Caramilla gave a puzzled look. “Didn’t we wake up at the same time? How did you-“

Luques pulled away the napkin with a flourish, revealing the rather cold and sad-looking sausage. “Bon appétit.”

In her sleep-and-hunger-addled state, Caramilla moved toward the plate and Luques quickly seized it. “Don’t… actually eat it,” she said. Her own stomach groaned a duet with Caramilla’s and the two set about fixing up some real food. This involved simply padding out of the tent in their pyjamas and shaking a tree until more fruit fell out.

After dunking her sticky hands in the pond to wash away any fruit juice, Caramilla just barely resisted throwing herself in for a bath. Her dress had gathered sweat after being slept in and Caramilla cursed her own sleepiness; she was tempted to change into her pyjamas now and wear those while trekking through the forest. This time the temptation won out and Caramilla did change into her cosy pink PJs, stuffing her daytime clothes in the backpack. Luques' eyes said, “are you sure,” and Caramilla's little twirl replied "I make it work." A quick inspection of Luques’ daytime clothes, which had been draped over a tree branch and left out to dry, revealed that they were fit to be worn. After dousing herself in deodorant, Luques donned her tank top and jeans, followed by her boots after confirming their lack of bugs. Their tent was taken down and the pair set off along the charred path of yesterday’s motorcycle, the ground having thankfully cooled overnight.

The Verdance was slightly cooler today, though still much warmer than home. Caramilla was thankful that she’d brought her thinner pyjamas as she wandered the forest’s floor, the sun not yet hindered by the approaching clouds and sending waves of heat across the land. A part of Luques almost wished her clothes were still a little damp, the water might have kept her cool. It was anyone’s guess as to how the Verdance hadn’t gone up in flames by now; if its winters were this toasty, neither of them wanted to see its summers. Though if that motorbike continued its rampage, perhaps a forest fire would follow suit.

“You sure you’re okay wearing your new pyjamas here? They could get dirty or ripped,” Luques spoke.

Caramilla started to turn around and walk backwards to reply but remembered the tree roots that could trip her and thought better of it. Even after that motorbike had burned its way through the forest, roots had already begun spreading and even grass tried to grow. The Verdance’s greenery would not be ruined by an unruly biker, that much was certain. “I don’t mind!” Caramilla said, “They’re cute and comfy and if we cast that spell we might end up with enough money to buy all the clothes we want.” She rubbed her chin and thought of all the luxuries such wealth could supply.

“I thought you were doing this because you wanted answers?” Luques asked accusingly.

This time Caramilla did turn around, her eyes giving a smirk, “I am, but material rewards are a nice bonus.”

Luques’ chuckle turned into a gasp as Caramilla’s foot found a root and she toppled over backwards, her bark of surprise cutting off abruptly when she hit the ground. Thankfully the floor at least felt solid, she hadn’t crushed a lizard or a bug underneath her weight or worse, broken her back on a second root. Caramilla took the hand outstretched and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet, still dazed and rather embarrassed.

“For our sake I hope we don’t encounter any nasties, if we’re having trouble guarding against trees,” Luques remarked. The look she received was piercing, though somewhat undermined by the dizziness still apparent on Caramilla’s face.

“Rich coming from you,” the femme spoke unsteadily, “the one who got a stern tap on the wrist for stealing a tree baby.” Luques made to respond when water fell from above, a few warm droplets peppering their flora, and Caramilla made the mistake of looking up, doing no favours for her dizziness. Luques held her steady and cast her own gaze skyward, where a group of dense white clouds had gathered.

Looking closely, it appeared to be snowing high above, soft snowflakes fluttering down from the heavens. The soft shapes above seemed to sag with the weight of their snow, evidently deciding to give up and let it trickle down to the world below. Yet the forest was experiencing rain, and rather warm rain at that. Snow fell, yet water landed, and Luques was rather confused. She shrugged off the backpack and reached inside, pulling out an old pair of binoculars which earned a questioning look from Caramilla. “Hang on,” Luques murmured, bringing them to her eyes and peering at the falling snow.

Unless she was mistaken, the snowflakes were melting as they descended, marvels of frost reduced to rain as they approached the atmosphere of the Verdance. Perhaps, Luques thought, the forest was surrounded by an aura of heat, explaining its unnatural warmth in winter. These clouds had chosen a most unfortunate place to give their gift, they’d have been better served back in Lucidum, though perhaps they felt some pity after smothering the town for a week.

Caramilla, for her part, had recovered and was looking through the binoculars now that Luques had had her fill. Mild annoyance pulled her face into a frown; despite what she’d said about not caring if her pyjamas got dirty, she still didn’t fancy getting soaked. It was then that their roles switched for a moment, Luques producing an umbrella and making Caramilla appear the more forgetful one of the pair. The rain ceased its assault on Caramilla’s head as Luques held the umbrella above them, a pitter-patter of droplets on plastic joining the cacophony of rain coating the trees and the grass. Quite luckily for the birds and other critters, the new trees possessed vast and thick leaves that provided ample protection from the shower. The scorched trail from the motorbike was cooled at least slightly, though the water’s warmth hampered its cooling properties.

“I hope the rain won’t erase the trail entirely,” Luques mused. “I’d prefer it if the ground hadn’t been burned in the first place, but this path is pretty useful.”

Humming her agreement, Caramilla was the first to resume walking, keeping a careful eye out for any more hazards while enjoying the sound of rain upon the umbrella. It was a small and cheap thing, much like their tent, which only meant that the two had to stay rather close to reap its benefit, and that was perfectly fine by them. They had no need to worry about the trail’s disappearance, if anything it seemed to grow more visible the further they progressed. It made sense, of course, they were surely approaching the motorbike and so the scorched path would be fresher the closer they got.

After a while they had to walk through the greenery beside the path, it had grown warm enough to almost burn their feet. This would have been understandable were they barefoot, but wearing boots made it a little concerning. They still thankfully hadn’t seen the motorbike – as helpful as it was to have a trail to follow, they’d rather not encounter its creator – nor had they heard the gruff growl of its engine. Still, the heat emanating from the path was worrying and the two were certain they’d find company before long.

“Are you sure they’re here for an amajnoll?” Caramilla asked. “Maybe they’re looking for something else, we might be headed in the wrong direction.”  
Luques gave their surroundings a quick check before answering. “We haven’t found one yet and I’m not sure why else they’d be here, let alone this deep. But you’re right, this might not be the right way,” she said. “I don’t want to run into those people either, maybe we should depart from the path.”

Caramilla made a noise of relief and the two took off into the greenery once more, enjoying the added benefit of shelter from the rain. Their umbrella was serviceable, but the broad leaves above kept them totally dry. They didn’t bother to move apart, though.

These trees were even larger and more magnificent than the ones they’d seen form earlier, suggesting that the flora grew more extravagant closer to the forest’s heart. As did the fauna, too. A handful of little birds still perched on the branches, but now larger nests could be seen, housing an assortment of more colourful creatures. Luques and Caramilla had to watch their step, lest they trample one of the frogs sleeping in the overgrowth, and some manner of rodent darted between the trees. It was becoming somewhat claustrophobic, but thankfully none of the wildlife seemed to pay them any mind. They supposed two travellers wandering the forest’s floor did little to disrupt the ecosystem, so at least for the time being, they were welcome guests.

“Look,” Caramilla pointed to the trees up ahead, whose trunks were shrouded in smoke. They both slowed to a stop, the area silent save for the sound of rain, which itself had started to slow.

“I think we may have found them anyway,” Luques said quietly. They’d broken off from the trail, but fate had other plans, and as they cautiously approached they bore witness to an unexpected sight. The motorbike they’d seen yesterday was lodged in the thick trunk of a towering tree, plumes of smoke billowing from its engine, yet the trunk bore no signs of damage. It was as if the motorbike was an extension of the flora, an ugly and out of place extension and perhaps more aptly likened to a wart, but nevertheless. A voice full of gravel sounded just up ahead, its owner hidden from view behind the tree’s wide trunk.

“I turn my back for five fucking minutes,” it growled with a blend of anger and exhaustion. “Alright, who saw what happened?”

Another voice spoke, less gruff and more confused. “The trees, they just… they changed. They ate the bike?”

Both voices were quiet for a moment, but Caramilla and Luques didn’t need an audio cue to know that the first speaker must be rubbing their temple.  
“That tree ate our bike. That’s what happened. That’s what you’re telling me,” it asked, its questions sounding more like statements.

“Bridge is telling the truth,” a third voice chimed in. “The trees broke apart and sorta fused together, and the bike was trapped in the middle. That’s what that huge crack was. I watched it happen.”

The gravelly voice seemed to trust this third speaker but didn’t accept their explanation with much grace. “And you didn’t try to grab it?” they growled.

“And get stuck in a tree myself? That bike’s replaceable, I’m not.”

All three shared a collective sigh and Caramilla and Luques moved to better see them in the clearing. The trio were holding wet helmets and their dry flora was being wettened by the rainfall, the clearing having few trees to offer protection. Luques scanned the area for any sign of an amajnoll, while Caramilla circled the clearing and approached its other side, intending to do the same.

Crack. 

A shard of wood splintered beneath her boot, this small piece apparently having not managed to reform with the rest. Sounds of alertness came from the three bikers and Caramilla silently cursed her carelessness, Luques sending her a startled look.

“Swear to stars if that’s those trees again,” the gruff voice said. The speaker was short and strong, their jacket dirty and torn and their helmet sporting scratches. Their orange eyes scowled as they spoke, “You’ve already taken my bike, you stupid plants, I’ve got nothing else to give you!”

One of their companions shook their head, their long blue flora swaying with the motion. “No, no,” they sighed, “that crack was a lot louder than this one, you heard it too. I think an animal broke a twig or something.”

Caramilla frowned. Calling her an animal, who did they think they were?

She didn’t dare move her foot, lest the branch make another sound. Luques was similarly frozen in place and the trio in the clearing still seemed alert. Caramilla looked to Luques for guidance and found the butch wearing an expression of pure terror, eyes so wide they seemed to consume her face. A bloated, hairy spider with twisted legs was suspended by its web just a few feet from Luques' head, its web decorated with the fat bodies of flies. Frankly, Caramilla was impressed that Luques hadn’t yet freaked out, but knew that it was just a matter of moments.

Sure enough, when the spider began to move Luques threw herself in the opposite direction, landing on the edge of the clearing and drawing the bikers' attention. She scrambled to her feet and backed further away from the spider's tree, but froze once more when her company made itself known.

“Hey!” the short one barked. “Hey, who are you? What are you doing here?” Their companions reached into their bags, ready to draw weapons should they deem Luques a threat.

“Ah!” Luques began, “Hello there! Sorry for the intrusion, I must have gotten lost. I’ll just be-"

“Lost?” the taller one echoed. “You’re awfully deep into the forest, just how long have you been lost?”

“Yeah, I thought tourists stuck to the outskirts,” the other added.

Caramilla watched worriedly as Luques rubbed the back of their neck. “Well, it’s been a few days,” the butch lied, “and I'm running out of supplies. Would you folks mind pointing me towards the exit?”

The trio shared a look and their leader approached Luques. They too wore a belt with a pouch and she didn’t want to think of what it might hold. “We’re not too familiar with the area ourselves, but I’m sure we could help you out. Provided you reward us,” they eyed the backpack and kept approaching.

“Oh!” said Luques, “Well I’m sorry to say I’ve got little to pay with. Thanks anyway though, I’m sure I’ll find my way out soon-"

“Your backpack's full,” the leader interrupted. “Look at it, thing’s practically bulging open. You’re a bad liar,” they grew closer, their companions moving to join them, “and I doubt you got this deep by accident. I know what you’re looking for.”

Luques gulped.

“Inspiration.”

Luques frowned, then quickly smiled.

“Ah you got me, this scenery is indeed inspiring. I wanted to observe its beauty first hand, but I must have ventured too far,” she explained.

The leader grimaced. “Drop the act, it’s Inspiration with a capital ‘I'. This forest is teeming with magic and what else could be the source besides Inspiration?”

Luques’ frown made a return.

“You’re here for the same reason as us, aren’t you?” they continued without waiting for an answer. “Got a backpack full of supplies, more than enough to brave the forest and take its treasure, right?”

Hidden amongst the trees, Caramilla focused her magic and prepared to summon her weapon, but the usual sensation of power at her fingertips was off. She began to sweat as the bandits approached Luques and her magic refused to cooperate, and while Luques avoided eye contact with them, she also kept her gaze far from Caramilla, lest they notice her femme's presence.

“Tell you what,” the short bandit said. “My bike's been ruined and I'm in a bad mood, but I’m not an unreasonable guy. You give us your backpack and leave the way you came, and we’ll forget about this meeting. Sound fair?”

Luques’ gaze flickered to Caramilla, who had finally generated a flash of light in her hand, and finally met that of the bandits' leader. “I'd rather not, if it’s all the same.”

All three bandits took a step closer. “It wasn’t negotiable,” the leader snarled.

Caramilla poured her energy through her hand and hoped to the stars that she wasn’t as rusty as she feared. To her immense relief, the familiar pink vine took form, glowing faintly with the energy of its creator, and the trio approaching Luques barely had time to turn before a spectral whip crashed into them from behind.

Luques dodged to the left as the short man fell forward, pulling the padded handle from her pouch and rubbing her thumb across its base. Polished glass grew from nothing, piecing together a long, gleaming lance which attached itself firmly to the handle. Caramilla leapt into the clearing, rushing to Luques’ side without taking her eyes off the three bikers.

“Are you okay?” she asked hurriedly.

“Just about, thanks,” Luques cast her wife an appreciative glance.

The bandits groaned and the tallest one rose to their feet, brandishing a wicked knife and rushing at Caramilla. Luques stepped in front of her and tightened her grip on the lance, sinking into a familiar defensive position. Metal met glass with a piercing scrape as Luques blocked the first stab, but her own counter-swing was evaded. The attacker prepared to swing their knife when Caramilla threw her fist into their arm, sending them back a few steps and causing them to drop their weapon. They hissed in pain but Caramilla felt little satisfaction, distracted by the second bandit hurtling towards her.

Eyes narrowed in determination, the new attacker pulled a similar blade from their pocket, though this one was cleaner and appeared less battle-worn. Despite the steadfast expression they wore, the apparent newness of their weapon and the unease with which they barrelled towards her suggested that the bandit was new to all of this, and Caramilla felt her confidence surge. She dodged the attack with practiced ease, though less ease than she’d have preferred, her foot slipping just slightly on the wet grass. The enemy growled and made to charge again but Caramilla was faster, swinging her arm horizontally and low to the ground and sending her whip into the rookie’s legs. A short bark of surprise left them as their legs left the ground and their face met the floor with all the grace of a sack of potatoes.

Caramilla hissed as Luques knocked into her from behind, sending them both to the ground. There was no time for apologies, Luques leapt to her feet and quickly pulled her partner up too, Caramilla choosing to ignore the mud on her clothes for the time being. The tall bandit who’d shoved Luques was helping their leader to his feet; his stance was unsteady, and his clothes were ripped. Grim satisfaction greeted Caramilla at the sight. She bore no regret in having focused the force of her opening attack on the bastard who’d threatened her wife.

Even with his injury, the leader’s eyes grinned with malice. “Shame you don’t have a pack on you too, miss,” he said. “We’d be getting twice the goods from you and your stingy friend.”

Neither of them bothered answering. The enemy didn’t deserve a response, and as far as Caramilla was concerned, it was too late to talk it out. They’d threatened her butch, and that could not go unpunished.

Instead she reared back her arm to strike the two foes with her whip, her anger forming thorns across its surface, and Luques turned quickly to keep the bumbling bandit behind them in her sights. Said enemy pushed themself to their feet, face covered in mud and twisted in rage, the mask of confidence having been well and truly torn off. Luques approached with a strong grip on her lance. Without warning, the bandit rushed at her as they had at Caramilla, giving Luques little room to swing her weapon. Instead she held the lance horizontally, blocking the oncoming stab and parrying with a firm shove. The enemy staggered back a few steps and came swinging again, feinting with a swing of the blade at Luques’ throat before driving their boot into her shin.

Luques winced and her leg trembled but didn’t give out. Behind her, Caramilla swung her thorny whip once more, not bothering to go for the legs and instead aiming right for the enemies’ chests. The leader and his tall partner dodged to the side, the whip just barely tearing one of their jackets, and the taller of them quickly grabbed the ethereal whip in one of the spots not guarded by a thorn. They yanked the whip towards them, dragging Caramilla in close, and raised their knife for a slash at her face. Caramilla clenched her glass hand into a fist and punched the bandit’s wrist as they swung, the blade just missing her and being sent once more to the floor. In place of a lethal slash, they threw their forehead into Caramilla’s, sending her reeling back and making the attacker themself really wish they were still wearing their helmet. Yet Caramilla didn’t escape the force of a hefty helmet, as the leader picked up theirs and threw it at her as she stumbled. The helmet struck her ribs and she let out a cry of pain, Luques turned with a worried look but had to quickly return her attention to her own opponent, who had grown frustrated with Luques’ consistent defence and chose to hurl their knife at her head. Luques had the sense not to duck, lest the blade hit Caramilla behind her, instead holding her lance vertically in front of her face. The knife struck the lance and snapped in two, the pieces narrowly missing Luques’ ears as they fell.

With a roar of frustration, the disarmed bandit threw themself at Luques, making a desperate grab for the glass lance. They gripped it and growled in Luques’ face, the butch tightening her grip and moving her injured leg to dodge the attacker’s kick and quickly thumbing the sigil on the base of the handle. With a twinkling sound like glass shards hitting stone, the lance’s blade shattered into countless tiny fragments. The bandit’s eyes widened as the solid glass in their grip came apart and they quickly backed away, not wanting two handfuls of jagged shards. Each fragment disappeared into nothing simultaneously, leaving Luques holding a handle without a blade. Immediately she tapped the sigil again and the lance reformed in a second. She put her weight on her good leg and reared back her arm, then struck the enemy with enough force to shatter the lance a second time; the glass hovered in place and quickly reformed, not unlike the merging trees.

Caramilla sank to one knee as the helmet slammed into her. Her two opponents saw their chance and charged her, their hands balled into fists and the knife forgotten. Hastily Caramilla pulled her whip towards her and focused her magic on defence. Like bandages around a mummy, the ethereal pink whip fastened around Caramilla’s body in an instant, its thorns having retracted, coating her in glowing rope. The bandits each threw a punch and while the force would leave her a pair of bruises, most of it was absorbed by the layer of magical cord. Caramilla winced as the fists connected but focused once more, and the rope exploded outwards, sending both attackers flying back.

In the brief moment of respite, Luques and Caramilla turned to face one another and assess their injuries. “You’re hurt,” they said in unison.

“Not as much as you,” Luques rebutted. “That one,” she pointed a thumb over her shoulder, “is nearly down, you handle them. I’ll take care of these two.”

Despite wanting to argue, Caramilla knew that Luques was right. Her body was bruised and tired from spending magic, while Luques’ lance could bring down the weakened pair with ease. It was at times like these that Caramilla wished she wielded a physical weapon rather than relying solely on magic – her glass hand packed a punch, but she didn’t think that counted.

“Strike!”

Pain blossomed in Luques and Caramilla’s legs and the pair of them hit the ground. They had turned away from the enemy for just a moment and that enemy, specifically the one humiliated by Luques, now stood with their arm outstretched. Rolling to a stop just a few feet away was another heavy helmet, which had been bowled into their legs with surprising strength. The lance handle left Luques’ hand and splashed a few drops of mud in her face as it landed on the wet ground. 

As they tried to rise, legs weak and aching, their feet slipped on the slick grass and sent them back down. Three pairs of footsteps approached. Caramilla tried to summon her whip, which had dissipated as she fell, but lacked the energy or the focus. Luques reached for her lance and a boot stepped on her hand as she grabbed it, making her hiss in pain and retract her hand. The bandits’ leader leaned down and picked up the handle, sneering down at the weary pair as they lay injured and exhausted.

“You could have spared yourself the pain, but no, you had to fight,” the leader said. “Credit where it’s due, I didn’t expect this one to bring out a sword,” they kicked more mud into Luques’ face.

“Lance,” she spat.

“Normally we’d give you more of a beating for giving us trouble, but something tells me this sword is worth a fair bit,” he continued. “We’re not the killing type anyway, so tell you what. We’ll take your weapon and your pack, and you two can keep your lives. Provided you don’t die out here in the forest, anyway,” he and his tall partner gave a cruel laugh which was echoed hesitantly by their third.

“And hey!” the short bandit turned to his companion, “Nice job finishing ‘em off. Might be more useful than you look.”

The clumsy one glowed at the praise and Luques rolled her eyes. “Still couldn’t take me down until my back was turned,” she muttered. The praised bandit snarled and kicked her injured leg, and Luques hissed in pain.

Roughly the tall bandit ripped Luques’ backpack from her shoulders and the leader pocketed the lance handle. “That Inspiration is ours, you two would do well to crawl out of here and leave it to us. We won’t be so generous next time,” he said.

Droplets of rain struck the two lovers while they were down, and the bikers put on their helmets to shield themselves. Though the rainfall had slowed as the clouds began to let up, every drop still felt like an insult to injury. Luques and Caramilla waited until the bandits were out of sight before sitting up, expressions bitter and lacking much hope. They didn’t even have an umbrella to guard against the rain, instead crawling to the clearing’s edge for shelter under a few broad leaves. Their bodies were sore, their clothes muddied, and they were stranded in the Verdance’s heart with no supplies. The trickling shower seemed to laugh at them, a chorus of mockery pitter-pattering against the leaves above.


End file.
